#I shouldn’t post at 1 am I will regret this

[potato-lord-but-not]

you know what? fuck you *does this to your horror podcast men*:

[almostempty]

Self Esteem

Pairing: fuckboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel blows you off for your date. You end up blowing him when he shows up looking to score. Inspired by the song Self Esteem by The Offspring. 

Warnings: kinda mean/fuckboy joel, mild dub con, smut, PWP, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected piv sex, joel comes on your tits, dirty talk, one (1) slap, choose your own joel era, readers on some dumb bitch juice for this man (i would be too), hit and run, smash and dash,

Notes: PLEASE send any feedback, this is the first thing i’ve ever written and posted, i’m tryn’ to practice and gain confidence bc my dream fic doesn’t exist so i gotta write it, it’s scary to post, y’all are so brave wtf 

WC: 2.9K

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57513220 

Part 2: Want You Bad

Part 3: Kick and Scream

Part 4: The more you suffer

Masterlist: Here

It’s a moderately painful type of suffering. Like purgatory. You’d made plans to go out tonight with Joel. It’s useless to expect him to show up, but you got ready and anxiously paced around your living room anyway. Checking your phone, at thirty minutes past the time he had said he’d pick you up. You sent him a text. His read receipts were on; he saw your message. Another thirty minutes pass agonizingly slowly. He hasn’t responded. You can feel a mild headache forming behind your eyes. 

You grab a drink from your fridge and collapse on the couch with a sigh. A mixture of anger, regret, and rejection churns in your gut. You shouldn’t have set yourself up for disappointment. 

No, he shouldn’t be such an asshole. You’ve got to stick up for yourself. Tell him off for his bullshit. The manipulation, standing you up, the lies. You know he’s using you. 

Unfortunately, you find the toxic rush addictive. The way he charms and seduces you after disappearing or acting like an idiot. You enable his behavior every time. 

And it’s sick that you like it. You like knowing it’s your door he knocks on in the middle of the night. He won’t take you on a date, but he still can’t stay away. 

No. Not this time. You’re done letting him waste your time with plans that never materialize. You’re going to practice all the things you should say. Tell him to fuck off. 

You grab another drink and return to the couch. The rejection is sinking in, and you’re feeling pretty low. You silence notifications from him in an attempt to take control of your thoughts. To stop waiting for it to light up with his name. You aren’t going to keep waiting for him. 

You shower and change into a big T-shirt and underwear. Returning to the couch, you turn on some trash TV to shut your brain off. It helps. Keeps you distracted. When it hits 2 AM, you crawl off the couch and turn out the lights. You hope you’re tired enough to sleep without Joel haunting your thoughts. 

You’re getting a glass of water to take to bed when you hear the knock at your door. Your stomach swoops and your body tenses with excitement. 

You’re fucked. 

You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face. 

He’s like a stray cat. Or, more like a tomcat. You know he’s gonna sweet talk his way in. You should ignore him. You should leave him outside on your doorstep, horny and alone. Let him feel rejected this time. 

You crack open the door and face Joel. He glows in the moonlight, stupid eyes sparkling when he looks at you. He leans an arm on the door frame and purrs at you. 

“Baby.”  

You roll your eyes. His breath smells like whiskey. 

“What the fuck, Joel? Where were you?”

He frowns. Big brown eyes try to weaken your defenses. 

“Work thing.” 

“Til 2 AM?” 

“One of the guys on the crew. Was his birthday, so we had to take him out.” 

You don’t believe him. You feel the urge to slap him across his scruffy cheek. You feel the urge to pull him in and kiss him. 

No. You can’t listen to that voice. The voice that still gets butterflies over him showing up at the door. He’s only here because all the bars closed, and now he’s looking to score. 

He preys on your moment of weakness. You’re in a debate with your inner demons, and he barges his way into your space. He moves like a blur. You blink and his rough hand is tracing the line of your jaw. 

He’s caging you in against the back of your door. He leans in closer. Hot breath fanning over your face. Your breath is still caught in your throat. You have half a mind to shove him off of you and begin your lecture, but he gives you no chance. 

He presses urgent kisses and bites along your jawline and down the column of your throat. A vampire at your door. You didn’t invite him in, but he’s got his teeth sinking into your flesh anyway. 

He smells like sweat, sawdust, and some over-scented men’s deodorant. Smells like a man, your lizard brain thinks. 

Trapped between him and the door, the closeness is intoxicating. His body is large and powerful and radiates a frenetic energy. Like he’s buzzing with need for you. You can’t help it; you like feeling wanted like this. Desired. The way he crashes into you like a feral beast—

“Wait.” Some sense flashes into your conscience. 

“Hmm?” he growls in your ear. His face is still buried against your neck while his hands grope at your body. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. His hands move to knead at your breasts through your soft, faded shirt. You fight to ignore the pleasure. 

“Joel.”

“Hmm.”

“You can’t just show up in the middle of the night after bailing on me and expect to get laid.” 

His hands slide under your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes you dizzy. He pinches and pulls at your nipples, and you fight back a moan, trying to refocus. 

“Joel!” you snap at him. 

“C’mon, I’m sorry, baby,” he coos into your skin. 

He rocks his hips against you, and the sensation of his hard bulge in his jeans against your soft skin sends a jolt of need through your nervous system. The words you practiced earlier slip further and further from your mind. 

“You can’t keep treating me like this.” You lob at him. The rest of your speech is hazy. You're grasping at sentence fragments, trying to remember the points you wanted to make. 

“Not gonna keep working.”

“Quit,” he replies sharply. 

“What?” 

One of his large hands slides up, still under your shirt, bunching it up, and wraps around your throat. He bites at your chin. Sharp teeth. He kisses your cheek. Soft lips. He nips your earlobe. You gasp. He sucks it into his hot mouth. Your eyes slam shut. 

You feel like you’re at his mercy, and the cavewoman inside of you just wants him to drag you to bed. 

“Quit arguing,” he grumbles. His deep voice in your ear sends a rush of arousal down your spine. 

“It’s not fair,” you protest. 

He shifts. His hands travel downward to squeeze at the plush skin of your ass. He tugs you forward and shoves his knee between your legs. You lose any train of thought. Cruel man. You don’t care anymore. You’ll let him keep tearing pieces out of your heart. As long as you can keep using each other's bodies. 

The pressure and friction of his thigh against your tingling pussy is the ultimate betrayal. You can’t stop the whiny gasps that come out of your mouth at the contact. 

He lets out a satisfied chuckle at that. Cocky bastard. 

“Not fair,” he repeats after you. “Hmm. Tell that to your wet cunt dripping on my leg, baby.” 

Your core flutters at his words. You feel your face flush, but it’s hard to argue with him. 

“I think you want me,” he continues. 

You try to glare at him. Your hips don’t care, though, as they roll against him. 

“S’alright, baby.”

You wish it were. 

“I only want you.” 

You desperately want to believe him. You shove that thought out of your mind. 

He pulls your shirt off and rakes his eyes down your body. He’s menacing. His broad shoulders and tense muscles loom over you. He’s fully clothed while you’re bare except for your wet panties clinging to your folds. 

Your chest heaves as you watch him. He has a carnivorous gaze. You’re prey with your soft body exposed; he’s a hungry predator waiting to make a lethal move. 

But he doesn’t strike. 

He moves painfully slowly. Tracing a finger down over your lips, down your chest, and belly, to the hem of your underwear. He slips the tip of his finger underneath and skates it across your skin from left to right. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, tense and twitching at the sensations. It’s too delicate. His expression looks like he wants to eat you whole, but his movement is restrained. 

“Know you do.” his voice washes over you, and a slight hum echoes in your throat. 

“You want me.” he husks. 

He pushes you back off his thigh. His hand dives further into your panties, and he drags his fingers through the pool of your arousal and spreads it through your folds. A smile breaks out on his face. 

“Yes,” you exhale as your body shudders. 

A look flashes across his features, and his eyes darken with lust. You peer down to watch his hand disappear in your underwear. 

“Say it.” He demands. 

“What?” Your eyes flick up to his. 

“Say it.” He repeats firmly. 

You writhe a little as he continues to toy with you. He’s wicked. Tracing circles around your clit, but not long enough to build a satisfying rhythm before he dips down and fills you with two fingers. He moves them lazily for his own enjoyment. 

You groan in frustration. It’s a tempting sound to his ears, but he doesn’t look amused. He’s waiting to hear it. 

“I want you?” you guess what he’s waiting for you to say. 

There's no use lying about it if that’s what he wants to hear. You want him. Even if you’ve been ruminating over his shitty behavior all night. 

“You askin’ or tellin’?” 

“Want you,” you repeat as a statement. 

He pulls his hand away completely. Your body jerks, chasing his touch. 

“Please,” you try. 

“Again.” he’s gruff. Ferocious as he demands you confess your desire. 

You sigh. Maybe for giving up so quickly or maybe because you always knew you would. 

“I want you.” 

He doesn’t relax. Or move. 

“Again.” He repeats like he’s a malfunctioning robot. 

“I want you, Joel.” 

“Again.”

“Please, Joel, I want you.” 

The hint of a smirk appears on his face. 

He taps your chin, encouraging you to part your lips. He slides his wet fingers in your mouth, along your tongue, and then removes them. He holds your open mouth, fingers around your jaw, and looks as if he’s assessing the quality of your tongue. 

“Prove it.” He commands. 

His tone does something to your brain.

Tomorrow, you might be confused at how he blew you off, but you ended up on your knees blowing him. But right now, you’re chasing a desperate need.

He steps back to give you space. You drop to your knees as he undoes his belt. Your eager hands work his jeans and boxers down far enough to expose his leaking cock. 

If you looked, you might’ve caught his condescending smirk, now fully exposed. 

You don’t look. You don’t wait for further instructions. You lap at his tip and tease with your tongue. You start working him into your mouth. 

The weight of his cock on your tongue causes you to moan. The vibrations cause him to moan right back. 

His arm shoots out to the door behind you for support. His head hangs, watching you move. 

“Fuck,” he groans at the sight of your lips wrapped around him. His clipped grunts and the way his core flexes encourage you. Your soft hand works in tandem with your mouth, and you’re drooling openly. You coat him in saliva. Messy. Your lips are swollen. 

When he breaches your throat, you slow down to focus on your breathing and swallowing. Little gags contract around the head of his cock as you focus on relaxing. 

“Fuck. Yeah, baby, show me you want it,” he rambles above you. 

You keep going and take him deep until your jaw aches and your pussy throbs. Hearing him react and spew filth at you stokes the fire in your core. 

“Knew your cock hungry mouth was waiting for me,” he slurs. 

A flash of embarrassment courses through you at that statement. 

You did wait for him. You should’ve said no. But it’s so hard when he shows up ready to go. You may be dumb for tolerating his actions, but you’re not going to turn down a man that looks like him and fucks like he does.  

“Eyes up,” he orders. 

You whine around him, looking up through your lashes. Obedient. With your eyes locked on each other, something passes briefly between you. Easy to miss, hard to describe. Like you could look at each other like that forever. Then it’s gone. 

He slides out of your mouth. Ogling the pornographic way spit trails between his tip and your tongue. The way your lashes are wet from trying to blink away the tears of exertion. 

“I did wait, Joel. Waited for you all night,” your voice comes out a little hoarse. You can’t be bothered if it sounds desperate. 

“‘Course you did,” he smiles and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Get up.” 

You don’t argue. He helps to pull you up, spins you around, and walks you the few steps over to your couch. He bends you over the armrest. You’re burning with need. 

He takes his time pulling your panties off. The way he has you presented for him makes you impatient. 

“Joel,” you whine his name in protest. 

“Quit.” He slaps your ass to make his point. 

You huff, but when both of his large palms spread your cheeks wider for his own enjoyment, another needy whine slips out of your throat. 

He chuckles darkly at you. 

“I’ll give you what you need,” he assures you before he sinks into your desperately empty hole. 

You groan in unison as he fills you. 

“So deep,” you murmur. He fits like he was made for you. Fills you up, so you can’t think of anything else. Can’t think of what you wanted to say or how you felt watching the time pass while you waited for him to show up earlier. 

“Always,” he agrees. 

He picks up a bruising pace. On edge for so long, you might go blind with the force of your building climax. 

He grasps your hair at the base of your skull and pulls, further arching your back and ripping another moan from deep in your chest. The sensations are overwhelming, and your mind feels blank. The sounds of his hips slapping into you and your combined panting, grunting, and babbling turn to white noise. The consistent drive of his cock against the perfect spot inside of you has you hurtling to the edge. 

“Yeah, baby, I know what you want,” he croons. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, and his other hand wraps around you to squeeze at them tightly. He remains steady and brutal with his movements. He does know what you want. And he keeps giving it to you. 

“Please, yes, don’t stop,” you beg. 

You wriggle one hand down to touch yourself. The pressure from your fingers around your clit brings you over the edge. You clench around him and gasp as you come.

“Yeah, that’s it. You come on this cock,” he rasps behind you as he works you through it. 

You feel the release melt your muscles, causing you to slump forward. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, and you know he’s trying to hold on as he pulls out and pants heavily. 

“Turn around for me,” he demands, stepping back. “On your knees.” 

You obey and turn to kneel in front of him. He looks wrecked, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth hanging open. His fist wrapped around his cock, still glistening from your release. 

It’s a debauched scene. He’s still fully dressed, only as exposed as necessary. He charges towards his climax with frantic force. You pose for him eagerly despite your boneless, damp form. 

He looks so primal it makes you lightheaded. You bite your lip to stop yourself from letting a giggle out. Your face shines with a sated glow.

You tilt your head up and squeeze your tits together for him. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he rasps out like it’s the only word he knows at this point. Your glossy, swollen lips pout up at him. Like, you need him to finish for you. That sends him. He comes across your chest as you release your hands, dropping your breasts with a little bounce.. 

He stares at you as his breathing slows. His warm spend is rapidly cooling against your skin. You still have a glowy, dreamy look on your face. Content.

“You look so good like that,” he praises you. A flush creeps up your chest and neck. 

You stand up and grab your forgotten water from the coffee table. He tucks himself back into his jeans and fastens his belt. 

“You gonna buy me breakfast to make up for bailing?” you float the idea with a joking tone, but there’s hope behind it. 

“Sorry, baby, got a job early in the morning.” 

“Right,” you snarl at him as he leans in to kiss you. 

“How about dinner after?” he suggests and fishes for his keys in his pocket. 

“Okay, yeah, what time?” You ask. 

“Not sure when I’ll be done.” He’s not looking at you. “I’ll text you.” 

He turns, slips out the door, and then he’s gone. 

You’re still standing there, naked and dumbfounded, with his drying come across your tits as he drives away. 

You groan and curse at yourself. He’s not going to text you tomorrow. 

You should stick up for yourself. But he did say he wants only you. And the more you suffer, the more it shows you really care, right? 

[narizaki]

video  calls  &  sick  days  ―  s. kiyoomi

tags   manager!reader,   gn!reader,   fluff,   sickfic,   post-timeskip

notes   wc is 1.5k,   thanks for 2 hunnid enjoy :p

over the few months you’ve been sakusa’s manager, you’ve ingrained daily video calls into your schedule. 

it wasn’t hard to tell that sakusa thought calls were inconvenient, to say the very least. the slight tick of his eye and the clench of his jaw were difficult to miss, even if he bit his tongue in the name of professionalism. you understood, really. no one would want to be disrupted early in the morning, especially when they’re someone who has a carefully crafted routine like sakusa — which is why you insisted on aligning these calls with his schedule, instead of deciding for him. it seemed to satisfy the spiker enough, seeing that he appeared much less tense almost immediately after. 

however, you’re starting to regret not bringing it upon yourself to dictate a time — especially when the back of your eyes are burning and it’s hard to breathe because it’s six in the morning and you’re sick.

“good morning, sakusa,” you groggily greet. you internally cringe at your voice, scratchy and making your throat hurt. you’ve opted to have your camera off just this once — you prefer to keep it on, as it makes these exchanges a little more humane, but you think your appearance is far too unfortunate for someone else to see right now. your hand runs through your hair, and you wince when your fingers get caught in a knot. 

sakusa’s camera is on, however, and the sound of pots clinking against one another fills the air around you. when he re-enters the frame, he’s focused on the meal he’s making, only mumbling a short greeting back. 

you take a swig of water and clear your throat, hoping that it helps with the ache, before beginning with sakusa’s schedule for today.

“let’s begin,” you start, “you’re free until 1 this afternoon, where you have a promotional shoot with hinata, bokuto, and miya. it should last until 3 or 4, depending on how long they take to prepare the four of you.” your words are curt and straightforward, and you hope that sakusa doesn’t notice. typically, you’d attempt small talk with him, but you’re currently trying to savor the last of your voice. 

“knowing miya, he’ll probably manage to drag it until 6 in the evening,” the spiker grumbles, and you can’t help the raspy (and tired) laugh that leaves you. a cough follows soon after, and if sakusa wasn’t able to tell that you were sick before, he definitely can now.

you watch as his eyes flit to his phone, a questioning look on his face. they roam around the screen for a moment, and you nervously wait for his reaction.

“are you sick?” sakusa bluntly asks. his eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s stopped stirring whatever he’s preparing on the stove. despite the fact he can’t even see you, you abashedly look away from your screen.

you’re tempted to deny it, but you know it’d be a futile attempt anyway. so, you relent, sighing out an affirmation. “yes, i am. i won’t be present at the shoot today, but you can expect the other three managers to be there. if you need anything, you can call me.” 

“no, i’ll be fine, but you shouldn’t be doing anything if you’re sick.” sakusa replies, turning away from his phone to move his food onto a plate. selfishly, you allow your eyes to rack down the wide expanse of his back, appreciating the way his compression shirt hugs his figure. it becomes clear that you were staring for too long, though, when sakusa turns back around, plate in hand and waiting for your response.

you have it in you to feel the slightest bit embarrassed, even if he can’t see you. 

“sorry,” you sheepishly murmur, “i can assure you that i’ll be okay, sakusa. i’ll be working from home today.”

“again,” he says, voice a tad harder than it was before, “you shouldn’t be doing anything if you’re sick. even if you’re working from home. is that everything i have on my schedule for today?” 

you’re not sure if sakusa’s being so insistent out of genuine worry for your health, or if he’s concerned that you’ll get him sick if you come to work in your state. “sakusa, i promise you that i’ll be okay in a day or two. and even then, i’ll make sure to wear a mask,” you say, assuming sakusa’s worried for his health. “moving on, though, i believe that’s all on your schedule for today. tomorrow you have your shoot with calvin klein, but i’ll remind you tomorrow morning. you have some pr, too. i believe a brand sent you pickled plums, which are your favorite, if i remember correctly?” 

you watch as sakusa shakes his head, sighing through his nose. “i’m not worried about me. i know that you wouldn’t get me sick. but if you keep on working instead of resting, you’re going to get worse, and you’ll be out for longer.” 

you’re beginning to become slightly irritated — a mix of tiredness, sickness, and sakusa’s nagging (even if it comes from a good place) beginning to annoy you. regardless, you try to pay no attention to it. once you’re done with this phone call, you’ll rest for another hour or two before doing whatever work you can from home. 

“i’m glad that you’re not worried about yourself, but as i said earlier, i’m sure i’ll be fine. i can take care of myself, sakusa,” you curtly reply, hoping that the spiker leaves the topic alone. 

thankfully, it seems like he does, because he relents and asks you to give him the pickled plums later on in the week. a few minutes later you’re greeting sakusa goodbye and hanging up, slouching into your mattress and performing a futile attempt at staving off the ache in your temples. 

you wake once again hours later to the incessant sound of your doorbell ringing. it’s certainly at least mid-morning, considering the way sunlight is filtering into your room, making your eyes ache. 

you stumble over to the door, paying no mind to your appearance and throwing the door open. to your surprise, sakusa is standing in your doorway, impatiently waiting for you to let him in, a plastic bag in hand.

“sakusa?” you gape. if you were being completely honest, he was the person you were least expecting to see right now — especially because you’re sick. he’s staring at you incredulously, like it’s not insane for him, out of all people, to willingly be around someone else while they’re ill. 

“you’re sick, right? i have soup and medicine,” he grumbles, “are you going to let me in or not?” 

you blink, before barely coming to your senses enough to open the door for him to step through. he does so immediately, taking long strides towards your dinner table to set the food down. then, he turns to you, and you have to resist the urge to curl into yourself. your head is pounding, you can hardly breathe through your nose, and you’re sure you look absolutely terrible right now. fuck professionalism, i guess, you sarcastically think. you’re not sure if you’ll ever allow yourself to live this moment down, even if you spend hours trying to forget about it.

“you didn’t…have to do this, sakusa,” you murmur, still somewhat in shock. and it seems that he’s just full of surprises today, because sakusa laughs, and you’re as surprised as you are annoyed because he’s laughing at you. 

“you’re my manager, i can’t have you dying on me,” he nonchalantly replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “now get back to bed. i’ll prepare the soup for you and get you some medicine.” 

you’re tempted to cuss at him, but decide that your entire body is far too weak to stay standing anymore, so you listen and make your way towards your room. sakusa doesn’t take very long, coming back with the items he promised and a damp towel — where’d he even find that?

and you think you’ve never seen sakusa so gentle before, placing the towel onto your forehead and handing you the warm soup. you eat it all in one go, not having realized how hungry you truly are, and graciously take the medicine sakusa offers you once you’re done. 

“...thank you, sakusa, you didn’t have to do this,” you say, feeling rather guilty that he took it upon himself to take care of you. 

sakusa only scoffs in reply. “you basically decide my entire life. everything would be thrown off-course if you weren’t able to work for even a week.” 

his response makes you laugh weakly, and you promise him that you’ll be back and better soon. 

“i have to go now,” sakusa says, glancing at his phone. you nod, remembering about the photoshoot you reminded him of earlier. 

he awkwardly stands still, before his hand comes to rest on top of your head in a strange head-pat. sakusa’s face is slightly flushed pink, an obvious show that he’s flustered.

“feel better soon,” he mumbles, and you thank him with a smile.

(sakusa was ten minutes late to his photoshoot. when asked why by his teammates, they gave him teasing looks when he said he dropped a few items off by his sick manager’s house.)

(he thinks he may hate his team.)

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

Apple pie

part 1

part 2

my angels! sorry i’ve been so busy i’ve been so excited to post this for you guys and am actively writing chapter four as WE SPEAK. thank you guys again sm for 600 followers ugh i cry. MUAH.

DISCLAIMER: IF YOU WERE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NSFW/DARK CONTENT OR ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH MY BLOG. MUAH.

Warnings: Talks about sex and mentions of hookups, mentions of yelling and crying, slight obsessive and stalking behaviors, just tons of angst- enjoy it.

Word count: 2,307

Days turn into weeks; weeks turn into a month. A month of you not even seeing Leon. You shouldn’t have grown attached to him in only three days, but what did he expect? You didn’t know if you were angry or if you were just sad. You now felt anger daily walking up the sidewalk to see his yard dying. He’s home, that’s the thing. All of his windows are now covered with black curtains. And it made you so.. angry.

He knew how to press your buttons too—pulling his curtains open and popping open his windows right before he left for his long night out. Listening to his Jeep pull out of his driveway, then come back hours later, the sound of him and some random woman laughing. Your eyes peered over your book as you watched Leon and said woman walk into his house, and before they even reached the bedroom, he was tugging at her sweater, her hands holding his chest. Stupid motherfucker. His eyes open as he sloppily kisses the woman, looking at you through the window as his shirt gets tugged off. The way his jaw fucking moved as he hungrily kissed the black-haired woman back. You’ve never stood so fast, trying to make it seem like you didn’t care as you closed your blinds. At least trying to sleep, shoving your pillow into your ear at the exaggerated cries and moans coming from Leon’s house.

But even though it hurts, you still get that aching feeling for him. To make him another pie or even a whole dinner and just knock on his door, apologize? You would say sorry if it meant you could see him smile again. And since it’s just shy of May, your strawberries are blooming. You knew they were coming in, and it gave you some joy for the first time in a while.

You woke up so early this Saturday morning, getting the small black basket sitting by your sink and running outside, a loud squeal of joy leaving your lips at the bright red strawberries. At least 15 of them too. Your fingers carefully tugged at the small stems, putting all of them into your basket. You let them sit in the vinegar bath for an hour, then run them over ice-cold water and put them in the freezer for exactly an hour so they’re cold and just a bit crisp. You stare down at your notepad as you lean against the counter, quickly writing

“I hope everything is going well! With love, your neighbor.”

You bite your lip as you stare at the basket of perfect strawberries before grabbing them and walking out your door. Your lawn is your pride, staring at your flowers before you walk down the sidewalk and up Leon's driveway. You stare at his door for a while, your hands gripping the basket in your hands as you regret your decisions. Maybe turn back while you can. He obviously doesn’t want to talk to you. Yet you want to talk to him. Your knuckles meet the door, your breathing stops as you just stand there. You stand there for a while too, looking around the porch before your eyes squeeze shut as you bend over, laying the basket on his welcome mat and walking back to your house.

———————————-

Leon jogs every morning, and it’s the perfect excuse to stare at your house without seeming like a weirdo again. His breathing labored as he slowed his jog as he hit your yard, his eyes looking at the strawberry bush to see that they finally bloomed and you had picked them. He couldn’t help but feel happy- happy knowing you had something to make you smile. He knew you’d been waiting on them for a while.

When he finally gets home, his breath steadies as he pulls the water bottle from his fridge, taking a long drink.

Then there’s a knock on the door. His head turns towards his entryway, listening to the knock echo through his hallway. Maybe it’s the mail? He would be happy even to see his boss. His footsteps are quiet and careful as he walks to the door, his body carefully leaning against it as he peers out the peephole.

Fuck.

You’re just standing there, strawberries in hand as you glance around his porch. His chest grows tight as you go to knock again but stop yourself, resting the strawberries on his welcome mat. He wanted nothing more than to swing open the front door and ask how you’d been. How’s work? How’s your garden? His eyes close as he presses his forehead against the door, he reaches over, pushing his black curtain aside as he watches you shut your door.

And he immediately swings his front door open, grabbing the small basket and shutting the door yet again. He sets them on his dining room table, his fingers grazing where your hands once held at the small handles. His eyes skim over the note, the little heart you put at the end. Yet he grabs it, crumbles it up and throws it away.

—————————————-

You gave him all your strawberries; you didn’t even try any yourself. This made your eyes water, the familiar wetting of your cheeks making you immediately rub at your skin. The noise of your house phone ringing makes you jump, your sniffling stopping as you slowly walk to the kitchen, pick up the phone and press it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“They were good. Would’ve made a perfect pie.”

Leon’s voice rings through your ears, your eyes immediately shooting towards his house, but disappointment shades your face as you see his curtains closed.

“Yeah, they were perfectly ripe. I'm glad you enjoyed them.”

Leon’s hand tapped at his window seal, staring at the empty basket of strawberries on his dining table.

“My lawn is dying.”

Leon’s chuckle makes your heart flutter as you nod your head, a small laugh leaving your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, I noticed actually.”

Your laugh makes his heart flutter.

The silence on the line is painful. Listening to Leon’s soft breaths on the other end.

“Goodnight.”

Leon’s voice sounded so friendly as he smacked the phone down. His breath increases before he grabs the small black basket, throwing it against his wall.

—————————-

You’ve been working too many extra shifts. The doubles turn into triples, sleeping on your breaks and downing black coffee. You get maybe four hours of sleep before you’re up again, throwing your hair up and dotting concealer under your eyes so you don’t look as dead.

Leon notices this new routine too, watching you run out the door at five in the morning, speeding down the street. When he finally sees your car out of view, he steps down his porch, his shoes crunching against the dying grass of his lawn as he walks over to yours. The grass was drying out and your flowers looked sad. Leon stared at the bushes for a few seconds before he walked over to your hose, twisting at the small handle before filling up your watering pot. He somewhat knew how you watered your plants, somewhat. After filling the pot, he let the hose spill water into your dying grass before carefully pouring the water over your bushes, making sure to get the roots and the dirt first and slowly make his way up the flowers.

When he finished, he ran his finger over one of the leaves, nodding before he placed your pot back, tangling up your hose once more and going back inside.

Leon did this for two weeks. Noticing that you were finally slowing down on shifts, he stopped; his black curtains draped open as he watched you step out into your lawn in the morning, staring confusedly at your plants. You knew they probably should be dead right now, your eyes narrowing at the healthy flowers.

—————————-

It couldn’t be Leon right?

Since it was coming up Summer, you were shocked Leon hadn’t been pulled out of town yet. He hasn’t been leaving much though, and when he did come back you always wanted to run out of the house to help him up his porch but his random women always seem to help him just fine.

Saying Leon wasn’t handsome would be the biggest lie. Lightning would come down from the sky and strike you. A quick google search also gave you maybe a bit too much information about him- pictures of him with the president, or him getting awards pinned to his chest, his name on memorial blocks, and way too much more. How have you never heard of him? The man has conspiracy rants about him online.

It made you even wonder if he did work for the local PD. You stared at your phone on the wall, biting at your nails with your laptop in your lap. You’re almost a whole bottle of wine deep? Why can’t you feel it? Your eyes went from reading the king article to scanning for your clock at the sound of pounding at your door.

Midnight?

This isn’t a bad neighborhood.. you felt your stomach steep as you looked around but you had no sort of self-defense mechanism at all. Maybe call Leon?.. No, no, don't call Leon. Now you really felt that wine as you stood up, tripping over yourself a bit and catching yourself as you walked towards the door. Your fingers at the small window by your door and your heart sinks at the sight of Leon staring at your door, watching his chest rise before he pounds on the door again making you flinch before you swing it open, the man staring at you.

Before you could even speak, he groans out in frustration at the sight of you.

“You called the fucking police department to check my employment status?”

This isn’t the usual Leon voice, he sounds pissed off and he is. And it’s valid.

———————-

You may have been in your own world, dozing off to the thought of whatever the fuck you do.

Leon's heavy breath filled his room as he pushed himself into the girl below him, closing his eyes, refusing to look at her before there was a ring on his phone. When he throws it down putting it on do not disturb, he can’t help but almost scream out of frustration as he pulls out of the girl, walking to his phone.

“Hello?”

“Control your little neighbor pet, Leon. Guess who called the police station asking for you drunk as ever. You’re lucky I didn’t call your boss.”

Leon hung up so fast, staring at his wall as he mumbled to the girl on his bed to leave, listening to her shuffle her way out of his house. He pulled his pants up, buckling his belt and tugging his black t-shirt back on as he stormed out of his house, marching to your door.

———————————-

You just scoffed as you looked at Leon, your hand gripping your door as he just stared at you with his sharp eyes.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Leon shook his head at the smell of the wine on your breath, looking past you to see your laptop and wine on your couch. Leon pushed passed you, grabbing the laptop on your couch and holding it in his arm as he scrolled through your search history.

“Get out!”

You’ve been googling him for hours, pinning websites to your pin bar. Leon slammed the laptop shut, staring at you. Your eyes are so soft, tears threatening your eyes as you watch him. It’s only been three months and he was obsessed with you. You followed his lead, slowly driving yourself to become obsessed with him.

Everything he did was in your favor. When you were overworking yourself, he made a really special visit to the diner, threatening your dick of a boss to hire somebody else or he would face severe consequences. The weeds in your garden, changing his entire schedule to revolve around you.

Leon was so obsessed with the thought of you, living this life where you and him could be perfect. It’s an unrealistic and stupid thought- honestly, it was fucking insane, clinical. Yet he just knew he had to stay away. He felt like everything he touched crumbled below his fingers, and if you somehow slipped from him, it would break him.

Watching the way your eyes water made that familiar ache start to form in his chest. He handed you your laptop, his hands visibly shaking.

He was walking away from you- again. You felt the tears slip from your eyes and you screamed at yourself. Don’t cry, don’t let him show you how you affect him so horribly. He reached for the doorknob but you couldn’t help but watch his back as you quickly wiped your hands, grabbing at his arm.

“Leon please..”

Hearing your voice crack made Leon’s heart erupt into flames, his hands suddenly stopped shaking as he turned back to you, his face a bit softer as you let go of his arm, your eyes still glossy. Your cheeks that light shade of pink, your lips slightly parted. His head shook as he took a small step forward, grabbing at the sides of your face before he slammed his lips against yours. And the way your hands reached up, it made him want to stay so badly. To hold you the rest of the night, he gently pushed you, not enough to hurt you, just to make you stumble, still looking up at him. But before you could even look, he was gone, and the door slammed again in your face. Leaving you stranded in your quiet living room.

———————————————————————-

taglist!

@bimbo-baggins86 @karmasshit @cweampier @wh0islyuri @ovaryacted @arianna-irwynarn @smallp00ks @xxacademy @x4ver1a @cryptkillo @darthdidi

[writing-for-life]

Hob Gadling’s Involvement in the Transatlantic Slave Trade between the 16th and 19th Century

The Fallacy of (clumsily written) Racial Reconciliation or: Is show/Hob really different from comics!Hob

I originally wrote this a while back as a reply to someone else’s post, but since we’ve been discussing “Men of Good Fortune” (comics) and “The Sound of Her Wings” (Netflix) in our community over the past weeks, I’ve expanded on a few points of my original thoughts.

This post discusses difficult topics, systemic racism, questions of social (in)justice and problematic angles in writing. If that’s not your thing, this is the exit sign…

A question that comes up quite frequently is the following:

Is show!Hob different from comics!Hob?

Hob’s conversation with Dream in 1789 (and not just 1789) in the show has been significantly altered (compared to the comics), and it makes it tempting to believe this somehow makes him different regarding the more problematic side of his character.

In the comics, we have a bit of dialogue in 1789 that shows how deeply involved in the slave trade Hob was: “I sort of started it,” said with a hint of, dare I say, pride? And then brushing off Dream’s concerns by saying, “It’s a living.” Twice.

(They changed this to, “It’s just how it’s done”, and a shrug in the show.)

And it’s true: If this had been integrated into the show, it would have painted him in an even worse light. However, I personally think it was the wrong move to leave it out (Ferdinand Kingsley carefully voiced something along those lines as well btw). Because now the show pushed Hob’s whole involvement in the slave trade much more into the direction of, “Oopsie.”

Can we truly take leaving out the above dialogue as a hint that Hob might be a better person in the show? I’d like to really reflect on that--leaving out those comments can’t make him a better person. Even if we change his arc slightly and he “wasn’t that involved.” You’re involved, or you aren’t. There is no, “I tried a bit of slave trading and decided it wasn’t for me.” One could even argue it makes the angle of the show more problematic because it makes the slave trade a “little blip” in his timeline. Things like that can’t be a blip. I personally think the writers made a mistake here, but that’s obviously just my opinion.

If there wasn’t enough space in the show to expand on it (which I get for a side character), I feel they should have left out the slavery arc completely instead of keeping, but then minimising it (that might sound contradictory, but it only does if you don’t look at it too closely). It already didn't sit right with me 30 years ago to use slavery as a side note for showing a white person’s character development without properly examining the damage caused, and it still doesn't sit right with me now. It makes the plight of PoC a plot vehicle to centre white people’s guilt, and I always thought that’s a blind spot only white people have (and I’m white myself, to get that out of the road straightaway).

I’m not saying it couldn’t or shouldn’t have been used narratively. Or that you can’t show remorse and atonement/redemption for the most heinous acts (that’s not the same as forgiveness—I’ll get to that). Or that characters who have committed said acts are irredeemable. But it would have needed to be fleshed out instead of making it a comment in passing. Many books and movies do exactly that. But the point is that it’s never been fleshed out.

“But they had to shorten and streamline it…”—just no. Because to me (and ofc people are free to disagree), that exactly proves the point—centring the white guy while sidelining the people who suffer. I am a bit doubtful we’ll get anything remotely appropriate in the show after what we’ve already seen. Only time will tell, so I’m withholding final judgment at this point. Fact is: It is uncomfortable to watch for people with any sensitivity on the matter.

And yet, there is a lot of focus on leaving out Hob voicing his regret in 1889, since that (again) “would have painted him in a better light.”

While simultaneously regularly failing to mention that he proudly proclaimed he “invented” the triangle trade. Can we really pick and choose his traits like that? Hob is a materialistic opportunist who also has some regrets. That doesn’t mean he can’t exist as a character, or that we’re not allowed to like him (morally grey characters are often the most compelling ones). We don’t need to sanitise him though, or try to erase his problematic traits from canon. The same goes for other characters (yes, I’m looking at you, Dream, and I’m sure we’ll get to that very soon—in fact, we’re possibly starting tomorrow 🫣). If we are talking about Hob’s remorse, we are probably mostly thinking about Sunday Mourning, so I need to bring in issue #73 at this point (this is your spoiler warning if you don’t want to read ahead).

The Fallacy of Racial Reconciliation

Very plainly:

A black woman is used as a vehicle to forgive Hob. And said black woman has been written by a white male author for that sole purpose without giving her anything else to do. I personally think NG got that wrong. It was clumsy and insensitive to POC, and I really hope they change this for the show. It’s a fact that he really wasn’t good with writing black female characters in the whole run—they all get fridged in one way or another, and he even admits it in the Sandman Companion. And then turns around and basically implies that it's all okay now because “nothing bad” happens to Gwen once Morpheus is dead. She is allowed to be a vehicle for the character development of a white guy though. It’s just really insensitive, and I sincerely hope they don't put it in the show this way. And I’m glad that we're seeing hints it might not happen--at least the casting in the show hints at it (from Lucienne, Death and Rose to very likely turning Carla into a white man—we already met Carl, and that’s who he is IMHO).

There is also the not so small fact that Hob is, even in his guilt and shame (shame is always about yourself, and that’s actually very in keeping with his character), not honest with Gwen. The thing about him basically inventing the triangle trade, which he so proudly proclaimed in 1789?

The English who were so good at it? The “Jack” Hawkins he talked about in 1789? That’s actually this dude:

And Hob funded him 200 years before 1789, and enabled Hawkins. Hob was involved in what became the transatlantic slave trade well before 1789–he already funded it when he had money in the 1500s.

He carried that mindset around with him for literal hundreds of years and saw nothing wrong with it until at least (! more about that in a sec) 1789. Dream had to rub his nose in it, otherwise it wouldn’t even have occurred to him (or did it, and he just chose to ignore it--see below).

Hob has been written as a stand-in for humanity, British Imperialism and England over the centuries—with all that entails.

So how honest is he with Gwen? And how long, even after 1789, was he still involved, even after abolition in England (Somerset vs. Stewart declared slavery unlawful in England in 1772, but that wasn't true for the rest of the British Empire. Buying and selling slaves was only made illegal in 1807, while owning slaves only became unlawful with the Abolition Act of 1833, and it took another year to buy out slave owners to actually make it happen)? Because there’s still this:

“It got worse when they did [outlaw the slave trade]. You only needed one voyage in three to make a profit. You could afford to dump your cargo if… you spotted a British Man o’ War.” How does he know? Why does he have these nightmares? We can take a guess…

That’s not someone who tried it for a couple of weeks and then thought, “Sorry, my bad.” That’s someone who has been opportunistically involved from the 1500s and potentially until after slavery was unlawful in England, which it already was when he talked to Dream in 1789. So does his feigned ignorance of, "It's a living/It's how it's done?" really hold? Especially if he potentially kept going, even after that convo with Dream? When I wrote "between the 16th and 19th Century" in the header, that's exactly what I meant...

Guilt and Shame

Yes, what we see above and in all the other panels is guilt and shame. And it reminded me of this:

And I’d encourage everyone to really listen to what Jasper has to say, and sit with the feelings it brings up. Because I can still remember watching this in the George Floyd aftermath for the first time, and how deeply uncomfortable it made me—because he’s right.

Black people/PoC do not need to forgive and absolve white people from their guilt. They can if they wish to, but that’s their choice, not ours. It’s not for white people to absolve other white people from their guilt around the oppression of PoC. And that’s why it could be argued it’s not for white people to write a black character to do that in their stead either (they can of course, but then they need to live with the fact that people will call them tone-deaf). It could also be argued it is something that cannot be forgiven retrospectively, and white people need to be okay with that. It can only be worked on in the present with a view to the future. And as Jasper also so rightly points out:

The guilt is not even helpful (at least Gwen has the right sentiment there, but it’s still falls incredibly flat over all), and shame only centres ourselves.

Forgiveness vs Redemption

Hob Gadling's regrets don't make everything he did forgivable. I think it actually does the story a disservice if that’s our main takeaway, because this is truly one of the bits of The Sandman that’s written in an extremely tone-deaf manner. NG isn’t the first author who did this, but we can take something good and helpful from this, and that’s engaging with these questions instead of brushing them under the carpet—because that’s what literary analysis is about.

It should be clear that I do see Hob Gadling as narratively important because I see him as a stand-in for humanity, and more specifically, English history. And there is really so much to learn from that.

Writers can get things narratively right but still be emotionally tone-deaf due to their own blind-spots. We don’t need to assume malice, but we also don’t need to leave it entirely unchallenged.

And because of that, we can certainly see Hob as someone who has to live with his conscience, and the consequences of his actions, for the rest of his life and struggles with that (as he should). And maybe we can see him as someone who is now, finally, trying to do the work. Because that is what atonement and redemption actually mean:

Taking action to rectify past wrongs. Actively working against the harm once caused, and preventing it from ever happening again. And I hope that’s what he does, and the signs are there (but there are also still signs that he values covering up his immortality higher than e.g. telling Gwen the truth. And we can find a million excuses for why that is, but ultimately, none of them truly matter).

However, it is not the same as forgiveness from the people we have wronged. Forgiveness is not a prerequisite to redemption, although it can be a part of it if the person who has been wronged chooses to extend it. But the people Hob wronged are dead, while their descendants still need to live with the pain people like Hob caused to this very day. So while I don’t see him as irredeemable, I don’t think he needs to, or even can, be forgiven—especially not by black people (unless they choose to. But it is also fine if they don’t, and again, we need to be okay with that). And we could say, “But Gwen chose to.” To that, I say:

I wonder what Gwen would have said if he had been truly honest with her (which he wasn’t, see below panels). That wouldn’t have been an embrace is my guess…

[littleadaline]

Hold Me [P.G8]

Warnings: academic overwhelm, reader isn’t coping well with the stress, Pedri being a (hopefully) helpful partner. Fluuuuuff ✨

A/N: wrote this during my midterms, basically how I felt going through the sleepless nights of studying, keep in mind I have ✨ADHD✨, so my retention can often be resumed to….shit 😽😽

A/N (again): I’m publishing this at 1:12 AM, clearly shouldn’t, but I’ve been too eager lmaoo. Um.. I haven’t written in a year or two, so bear with me. I’ll try to post on a somewhat regular basis, but being a Uni student, my schedule is a bit hectic. Love 😽

———————————————————————

Everything felt dull. The birds had stopped singing, the sky wasn’t as bright, the wind was colder. You huffed as you woke up, not ready to go through another day of this. Pedri had already left for training, leaving you alone in the flat. You sighed, turning over to grab your phone, chuckling as you saw the messages he had sent you while you were asleep.

[Mi amor:]

Thinking of you 😘 Good luck with studying today! I’ll grab us food on the way back xx

You answer his message before making your way to the bathroom, ready to get on with your day. As you take a quick glance in the mirror, you can’t help but notice your sulked face, your tired eyes from hours of staring at your computer, tirelessly trying to understand the concept of your class. You were currently studying for your finals, something that had been consuming your entire life, barely leaving space for extracurricular activities or just, breathing. Pedri had noticed the toll it had taken on you, on your couple, seeing your date nights pushed aside for a quick study attempt. You couldn’t lie, some days you had regretted pursuing a higher education degree. A notification from your phone pulled you away from your thoughts.

[Mi amor:]

Training is done, but I’m gonna go out with the boys for a bit. I should be back in 3 hours. Are you in the mood for a poke bowl, cariño?

You let him know before heading to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. As you bit through your toast, you glanced around the room. Your books and textbooks were splattered across the dining table, your pencils scattered around the room, either having fell down the table or thrown in a fit of rage. You sighed, putting down your coffee mug on the table. You knew you had to clean up your mess, not wanting Pedri to see the flat in this state. But something was preventing you from picking up your books, your scattered pencils, and the hundreds-if not thousands of Post It’s on the floor. In an attempt to pump yourself up, you sat down on the dinner table, a twinkle of hope in your eyes. You opened up your computer, your eyes glancing at the revision document. Word after word, after word, after word. Your brain barely read out the sentences, before you felt a ball in your throat, a feeling of helplessness overcoming you. Overwhelmed, you sat down on the cold floor of the flat, defeated. Why? “Why can’t I pick up after myself? Why am I so shut down?”, you muttered to yourself. You were nervously playing with the hem of your sweater, clenching and unclenching your fists, your breathing rapidly increasing. You found yourself overwhelmed; by the repetitive clinging of the washing machine you had previously started, the neighbours’ crying baby, the children playing in the park below the apartment. Everything felt too bright, too loud, too much. Exhausted, you let the tears out, longing for some sort of relief, more emotional than physical. You rolled yourself into a ball, sobs hidden by the noise of your neighbourhood.

Outside this flat, no one knew about the mental exhaustion you had pushed yourself to. The restless nights, staring at the ceiling while Pedri snored peacefully next to you; the times you silently cried in the shower as your soul broke from the pressure. There was no denying it, the academic pressure had broken your soul, left it torn into shreds, your confidence down the drain. Between the sobs, you didn’t hear the front door open. You quickly wiped down the tears before scurrying to the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

“Cariño, I’m home!”, a soft knock came from the door. You sniffled, rather loudly. “Is everything alright?”, his voice grew concerned.

You looked in the mirror, your eyes widening in horror as you saw how red they were. “Shit, shit shit,” you said dabbing some cold water around your eyes. Pedri knocked a second time, harder. “Open the door please, I’m concerned about you.”

Left without a choice, you reluctantly opened the door. Pedri was standing there, his figure towering over you, his eyebrows were knitted in worry, his lips slightly agape. His hair was slightly stuck to his forehead, most probably due to the sweat from training.

“Nena, what’s going on? Did something happen?”, he said as he took your hand and led you out of the bathroom. “C’mere.”

Settling down on the couch, your body over his, you closed your eyes; for fear of breaking down in front of him. You felt one hand settle on your back, while the other settled on top of your head. In an attempt to soothe you, he began stroking your back. You felt your body relax to his touch, your worries melting away into nothingness. Pedri was your anchor, in all the aspects possible. Whenever you were sick, or tired, overwhelmed or angry, you knew you could find solace in his arms. You don’t remember what exactly happened after sitting on the couch, but you woke up to a different scenery. The sun had set down, leaving Barcelona enveloped by a cold darkness. The apartment had been tidied up, windows closed, blinds drawn, your books neatly packed on the bookshelf, your Post It’s picked up from the floor, your pencils back into their container. All the lights were turned off, the only source of luminosity being the candle Pedri had lit up in the kitchen; almond vanilla, your favorite. Confused, you sat up.

“Pepi?”, you said, rubbing the sleep off from your eyes.

Footsteps made you turn around, a freshly showered Pedri looking at you. You saw him disappear into the bathroom before coming back out again, fully dressed and dried up. Before you were able to say anything, he sat down on the spot next to yours. His hand found yours as he fiddled with your fingers.

“Nena…I think I know what’s going on with you.”, he started.

You held your breath, afraid to hear the truth coming out of his mouth, a truth you had tried so hard to suppress and deny.

“You’ve overworked yourself, haven’t you?”, he said, lovingly stroking your hair. “You’d think all this tossing and turning at night would go unnoticed?”, he chuckled. “I have taken into account how you started biting your nails again, how little time you have to rest. Your water bottle is always sitting empty, unless I refill it for you. The snack basket’s content hasn’t moved either, unless I break your study trance and feed you. You are sitting in front of your computer every waking second you get. I’m worried about you, and your mental health.”, he said in one breath. Pedri was right. Your day was filled with dread, to have to spend hour after hour trying to memorize concepts for your degree, your mind feeling like a hole-filled sponge, never able to retain anything. Exhausted, you let the dam break. Your shoulders shaking with sobs, soaking Pedri’s shirt as well. Pedri tightened his hold on you, bringing you closer to his chest.

“You won’t go through this alone. With the upcoming international break and my injury, I will be home for the next week and a half. I have also booked you an appointment with a therapist, so you can establish coping mechanisms together… also to talk it out. And after all of this is over, I booked us a flight to your hometown.”

You looked at him in confusion.

“I think being away from your family isn’t helping you much either,” he let out. “You’ve been in Barcelona barely a year, and I believe a part of your soul is still in your hometown. I believe the beach and your grandmothers’ cooking is exactly what you need in order to come back stronger.” He said, kissing the top of your head.

You didn’t know what to say, nor how to thank him. Unable to say anything, you just let yourself crawl onto him, your head peacefully resting on his shoulder. His body wash -a mixture of sweet and spice- filled up your nostrils, as you hummed in peace. You would always be grateful for the day Pedri appeared in your life. The relationship you had built was one out of fairytales, a story of love and resilience, considering you had survived doing long distance in the early stages. You balanced out each other in more ways you could think of.

“I love you”, was the only thing you mustered up to say.

“Te quiero también, nena.” He said, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

[currentfications]

Reason | Part 1

Pairing: Bada Lee x Reader, Felix x Reader?

Warning: Swearing, angst, bi-struggles?¿ (definitely mentions of homophobia and internalised homophobia, I am going through some ~family issues~ at the moment and have decided to take it out on y/n, apologies in advance >_<), mention of alcohol, smoking, and unhealthy coping mechanisms

AN: This whole series is brought to you by that one post and this one song, fused together with some feverish deliriums. I sincerely apologise for the darker tone this series might have compared to my usual stuff, thank you for still reading it~

Previous | Next

“But why?” Y/n’s eyes welled with tears as she fought to keep them in, swallowing a hard lump in her throat as she feel herself getting sicker in the stomach.

Bada sighed despairingly, knowing that there’s no good answer to the dejected girl in front of her. “You know why,” the taller girl unintelligible, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n squinted her eyes shut, wiping away the tears that slid down her face - as if her closing her eyes will make this all go away, as if she can pretend this all never happened. But it’s happening, and the only thing left she can do is to pick up what’s left of her dignity and walk out those doors. She composed herself to the best she could. Mildly trembling but managing to keep her breathing somewhat steady, she looked up at the woman she adore with her whole heart with a forced smile. “I love you Bada, I always will,” y/n took a deep breath before planting a soft kiss on the taller girl’s cheeks. “I hope he will to.”

Bada watched as y/n left her apartment, unable to stop her from leaving behind, taking a half-hearted step towards the shutting door. The image of the girl’s watering eyes and quivering lips burned into her mind as the dancer landed her fist on the wall. “Fuck!” Bada screamed into the empty room, her voice cracking from the pent up, now overflowing, frustration.

If she hadn’t cared that much about her career, her image - or heck, what others are going to say about their relationship, would this have ended differently? The usually cool and unbothered choreographer is now in shambles on her living room floor, wishing she had the courage to be the girlfriend y/n deserves - or at the very least, not have the audacity to do the one thing that shattered y/n’s heart into a million pieces.

Y/n finally let her waterworks run free once she is shrouded by the darkness, hiding from the potential cameras around the corners. Finding a secluded corner, she broke down into tears, curling into a fetal position. It was hours before she ran out of tears, staring into the empty streets. She’s been heartbroken before, but this betrayal have left her feeling more hollow than ever. In a state of delirium, possibly from dehydration, y/n pulled out her phone and hovered above a contact.

Rationally, she knows she shouldn’t be calling him. She knows better than that, than this. It’s revenge than she wanted, and he’ll be collateral damage. But the rage boiling inside of her is almost blinding, jealousy overwhelming. A moment of insanity won over her usual levelheadedness and she dialled the number.

The boys have just gotten back to their shared dorm when Felix’s phone buzzed. Crossing his finger in hopes that the call is not from their manager, the brunette tentatively flipped the phone screen over. Albeit a little confused by y/n’s call this late into the night, he signed a breath of relief knowing he’s not getting into trouble with their stern manager again.

“Hello?”

Felix’s deep voice through the phone almost snapped y/n back into reality, almost. She know she should hang up, but she wanted her to feel the same pain. Taking a shaky breath and shutting her eyes, knowing she will regret this, “hey Felix.”

She can almost hear the first of many nails in the coffin as she uttered the two words, sealing what’s left of her heart. It’s unrequited love, she reminded herself, it’s inconsiderable love. She bit down on her lips, hard enough to taste blood, and continued the eulogy of her grievance. “How’d you feel about being a rebound for 72 hours?”

The boy band member’s brows knitted together with concern as he heard those words, delivered with bitterness he never thought he’d be at the receiving end of. Y/n has always been the most prudent friend he’s ever had, and even though she’s been known to be capable of making some ruthless decisions, this is very much so out of character for y/n.

“Bro, are you okay?” Felix excused himself from the group, closing the door behind him for some much needed privacy.

Y/n chuckled humourlessly, her dry lips cracking as she sneered at how pathetic she sounded. “Splendid. Hence why I’m calling for a rebound in the middle of the night.”

Recognising y/n’s signature coping mechanism (dripping sarcasm), the brunette rubbed his temple and checked in on the obviously-not-okay y/n. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Are you high?”

“I wish.”

“Are you and Bada-”

“Not her. Not now.”

Felix’s eyes widen as he muttered an apology, realising the situation. There have been rumours floating around that y/n and Bada is an item; although never confirmed, he’d always took y/n’s silence over the past year as some form of confirmation. After all, she has never allowed baseless rumours to circulate - not even back in high school (someone spread a rumour about her being a ‘fake dyke to get attention’, in retaliation y/n finger-banged both the boy’s sisters during recess).

“Is that a no?” Y/n asked dryly, breaking the silence. She would’ve felt absolutely mortified by the awkward silence if she wasn’t so numb.

“W-wait are you sure?” Felix panicked, remembering the question on hand.

Y/n sighed for about the hundredth times tonight, “can you hand the phone to Chan?”

Felix tutted at the phone, “absolutely not.” It’s not like he’s not into her, in fact, he’s always fancied y/n since they shared a table during that one class. If not because of the fact that y/n has never even taken romantic interest in men, he would’ve asked her out during formal (y/n went with the reverend’s daughter that year, to Felix’s disappointment). “Happy to comply. In fact I’ll even throw in another 72 hours, no extra charge.”

“Thanks,” y/n muttered, grateful that at least one thing is going right for her tonight - only to immediately feel a wave of guilt and shame washing over her as she apprehended her actions. Her self reflection was cut short by some drivers racing down the quiet street, roaring as they past through.

“Dude are you still outside,” Felix glanced down at his watch, eyes widening, “at 3 in the morning?”

Has it been six hours since the fallout? Y/n has lost track. She can still hear Bada’s words echoing in the wind. ‘You know why’, she said - three simple words that cut deeper than it should have. She denounced y/n to the world, not because of anything she’s done, but simply because of the bigotry the general public has. She pushed away y/n time and time again, not because she didn’t loved her, but because she couldn’t face the repercussions of loving a woman. A grocery list of whys summarised into three little words.

For years, y/n have understood and gave her the privacy she needed to deal with all that; but when Bada pulled him to her lips in front of all their friends and family, officially announcing their relationship - y/n couldn’t understand why. Why Howl, and not her.

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

ok my dumbass didn't understand and now looking back at your response made me feel so dumb rn i hate myself :(

PLSSS disregard my request earlier, i would love a part two of the post you made with the comfort after fluff

I'M SO SORRY- I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT IT MEANT EARLIER-

-Anon of the safeword scenario <3

NO WORRIES I GOT YOU! Also sorry for this taking so long, but here it is. I am sorry if it doesn’t connect well with part 2, as it has been a while, however, I will try my best. Thank you for being so patient with me. Sorry if my writing sucked on this. Safe word Part 2 Part 1: Here Requested Tags: @nnasv

Scaramouche:╔════════════════════════════════╗

After the rough angry sex, and his slow apology, Scaramouche was gently taking care of you, as he was kissing every hickey on your body that. He was silent as it was hard to read his mind. Maybe he felt guilty, maybe he felt remorse and regret, maybe he was focused on your, or maybe he was angry with himself.

You looked at him, as he was rubbing pain killer cream on your bites and hickeys. You were sitting on his lap, so he had access to your body, as he took care of you. He sighed and looked at you. He wanted to say something as he felt maybe he had no right to. He felt like he might've hurt you, or lost your trust. However, you gently cupped his face and smiled. You wanted to tell him that you understood why he did what he did.

He looked at you and sighed. "Why? Don’t humans...don’t human hate you after this?" You shook your head and began to kiss his cheek. he widen his eyes in surprised. "Its okay...just talk to me next time." You patiently smiled at him. After all, he has a lot to learn but he was willing to learn for you.

His gaze soften and gently pulled you into an embrace. He then started to rub cream on the hickies on your back, and began to check the bruises he accidentally gave you. He made sure you were resting in bed, as he was cooking your meals and making sure you recovered properly. Despite him not sure how to take care of a human being, he made sure to listen to your needs and wants.

Kazuha ┌── •✧• ─── •✧• ─── •✧• ───── •✧• ──┐

Later on, you were avoiding Kazuha a bit due to the recent events, as you felt maybe your safe space was suddenly broken a bit. And of course, Kazuha noticed this. He does sigh at his own actions in shame, however, he didn’t know how to approach despite him seemingly he always know what he is doing. His emotions got the best of him as he had been feeling guilty. You were his one and only loving significant other, how could he treat you like a ragdoll as such.

Eventually, you two ended up being in a room alone. As you were stacking books in the bookshelf, and cleaning up. Kazuha entered as he needed a book to help him with his poetry, a reference book if you may. Kazuha stopped as he saw you, for a moment he thought about leaving as he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable however, he decided to maybe talk to you.

He walked up behind you, and gently placed a hand on the bookshelf. "Darling.." He whispered to you. You turned and looked at him, as you felt your heart pound. You never expected to talk to him or see him this soon near you. You looked at him and tried not to show your surprise.

"Can I...Can I hold you?" He held his hands up, as a way to show he won’t be rough with you in anyway. You thought for a moment and nodded. He gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close against him. "Darling, I am sorry for what did to you...I was frustrated and I shouldn’t have let it get to me so bad. I was immature...please...forgive me." You gently hugged him back and stayed silent. "How about tonight I can spoil you with kisses and cuddles and if you feel up to it, we can try a gentler time with our bodies?"

Xiao ╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮

Later on, Xiao was massaging your thighs, hips and back. Nothing but guilt was coming out his mouth, as he felt regret for ever being rough with you. He brought you your meals, bathed you, lotioned you. He kissed on your bruises and wounds. He massaged your lower back as you complained that hurt you the most. He would feed you painkillers and rub medicine on the bruises and handprint bruises he caused on your body.

He would then cuddle you right after, rubbing your stomach, or back, to make sure you are comfortable enough to sleep. Xiao would look at you with a defeated gaze, as he was silent. You reached out and placed your hands on his chest. "What's wrong? Does your back hurt you again?" He asked, making sure you are okay before anything else.

You shook her head. "I..I forgive you, I get why you did what you did.." Xiao sighed. "I am still sorry...I was a child...that is not what you should expect from an adeptus of 2000 years old..." He looked at you. "Please, you need to make sure to stop me next time, or get away from me. I feel scared I might hurt you again...even worse...use my full strength..."

You smiled. "I trust you...you would never hurt me.." With those words, Xiao tried not to shed tears, as he was overthinking. The idea that he would accidentally kill you during these intimate moments, the idea of hurting you, the idea that he caused you misery and suffering. He couldn’t handle it. You continued to reassure him, as you felt how gentle his hands were on your tattered body.

Albedo: ❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉ ❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉ ❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Albedo was making medicine for your sore throat from recent events, as you were laying down. Your throat was red and sore. You were coughing. You felt Albedo feed you a serum to help with your throat. He fed you soft foods so you had an easier time swallowing. Albedo sighed as he knew he was responsible for this, no amount of consoling was enough to make him feel better. He wanted to take accountability so this is what he decided to do.

He was checking your throat, and making sure it was recovering. He was feeding you stew, soup, a lot of water based meals. He was giving you cough drops. Sometimes when things get to him bad, he was kiss your throat, and apologize to you in the most gentlest voice. "Dear...that was very barbaric of me...I never meant to ruin your throat as such with such tainting actions..."

He is aware you forgive him, however he couldn't forgive himself until he takes full responsibility for that throat of yours. He stopped everything, all his experiments, playtime with Klee, his main priority is you.

[diazfightclub]

this is part 1 of my catholic guilt eddie/buddie wip! (working title) i've previously posted small snippets here and here, but this one today is the opening scene!

At the end of the night, after Tommy swoops in and saves the day, delivering Chimney to the altar by chopper, after the vows and kisses are exchanged, after people have eaten and danced and drank and celebrated—

At the end of the night, Eddie finds Buck. 

He’s standing alone at the edge of the garden, watching people dance. The party is starting to break up, the crowd thinning out. There’s something wistful and sad in Buck’s expression, and Eddie finds himself walking over to him before he even thinks about it. 

“Where’s Tommy?”

The man had been here earlier. After the heroics, he had stayed for a while. Eddie had watched as he and Buck danced together without meaning to, drawn to the two of them slow dancing to the band Maddie hired. Eddie had caught Buck’s eye over Tommy’s shoulder and lifted his glass in a toast. Buck’s nose had crinkled in disgust. How are you drinking right now? he seemed to ask, which made Eddie’s stomach roll in turn, his hangover roaring back to life. He shook his head and pointed to the gatorade bottle on a nearby table. Eddie watched as Buck’s mouth went crooked like it did when he was trying not to laugh.

Tommy had glanced over his shoulder, then. There was something in his gaze when he made eye contact with Eddie, something calculating that had Eddie looking away. 

He didn’t know what to do with the flush of embarrassment he felt. Like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He left them to it, slinking away to where Marisol was waiting for him inside.

Now, though, he’s standing with Buck alone.

“Tommy left.”

“He had to return the chopper, huh?” Eddie tries to joke, but Buck doesn’t react. 

“He said…” He watches as Buck takes a deep breath. “Tommy and I—It’s not going to work out.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that. “What? I thought you said the second date went well.”

“It did.”

“And then Tommy flew in here, delivering Chimney to save the day. I thought you’d be into all that knight in shining armor schtick.”

“I was. Am.”

“So?”

“It’s just… not going to work.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry man,” he says lamely. “I’d offer you a drink, but.” Buck doesn’t laugh. “Do you want to come over later?”

“I probably shouldn’t,” Buck says, and there’s — something in it that Eddie can’t identify. 

“Maybe this weekend, then.”

“Listen,” Buck runs a hand through his hair. Eddie resists the urge to smooth it back down when it sticks up. “Tommy said something before he left, and I—I think he might be right.” There’s a pinched quirk to his lip. “He said that it wasn’t going to work out between us because it’s obvious I’m caught up in my feelings for someone else.”

There’s a whisper of a thought in the back of Eddie’s mind that fills him with dread; he refuses to think it. “Who, Natalia?”

“No.”

“Taylor, then.” It made the most sense, it had been Buck’s longest relationship. The sting of their breakup had lingered. Her betrayal of Buck’s trust had hurt them all, and even if Eddie never liked her, it’s obvious that Buck loved her. Even though the thought of her coming back into their lives made him want to vomit.

But Buck — Buck looks at him with this look in his eye, and he’s not, not sad but more regretful. He’s anxious. Eddie is suddenly, painfully aware that he doesn’t want to hear what Buck’s next words are.

Because he knows what Buck is going to say. He’s going to say it, he’s going to name the thing Eddie’s been so carefully avoiding. Their relationship has been a minefield for years, and Eddie has gotten extremely good at picking his next move carefully, but Buck is about to throw caution to the wind and take a daring step forward without watching where he places his feet.

He’s filled with so much dread in an instant, but he’s helpless to stop Buck as he’s opening his mouth to say:

“Eddie, I think I’m in love with you.”

Buck says the words, and nothing changes.

Everything changes, really, everything that matters anyway, but — it’s not the explosion of movement Eddie is expecting. It’s like the earth stands still. The party sounds fade to nothing, the twinkling lights frozen in time. Nothing moves. There’s no wind, no insects buzzing, nothing at all. 

It feels monumental, like something should be shifting. Everything should be thundering with the weight of this moment, but. Nothing. It’s like a hush has fallen instead, the world taking a pause to watch them, waiting to see what happens next, and Eddie—

Eddie takes a step back.

He doesn’t know what Buck’s expression does because he very stoutly doesn't look at him. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, but Eddie is already shaking his head and taking another step. 

“I have to, um,” he doesn’t even come up with an excuse before he’s turning his back to Buck and walking away.

[boolger]

I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 6 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆ [chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5] ☆ [chapter 6] ☆[chapter 7]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 6/10 ☆ 1,935 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you.

So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, suicidal thoughts, more will be added

extra note: Ahem, first of all, this is fiction, this is not a healthy relationship, secondly, In case you haven’t noticed in any of the former 5 chapters, i am not a hacker and i don’t really understand a lot of it, so just. Sssh. play along. third thing, Fae has some short suicidal thoughts.

You didn’t quite remember how you got from the car to the room Kate had been keeping you in; you were overwhelmed, your legs feeling like jello, humiliation from the failed escape attempt, from the spanking - from Price watching the spanking.

Even worse, how you had liked it, how Kate’s hand had rested on your burning behind, gently caressing the soft, warm skin, fingers trailing along your stretch marks. If she saw how wet your pussy was, she didn’t comment on it. 

A part of you had expected her to leave you alone afterwards, angry with the lack of replies yesterday, with the way you escaped and had to be caught again.

Shame made you nauseous for a moment - you were back, your attempt nothing but a failure, having been spanked in the car like a naughty child. This whole thing was getting worse and worse - you were supposed to be the kidnapper, you were supposed to be the dangerous one, the one who would catch Kate and bring her back to yours, instead, here you were, the least dangerous being in the room.

You sat down on the bed, instantly regretting it as your ass hurt, making you tip to the side and lay down, tears still filling your eyes.

“ ‘nough of that, pretty thing,” she said, standing next to you, reaching down to touch your cheek, as if to say you were being too dramatic , “you took your punishment yeah?”

“You were going to kill me,” you cried, trying to ignore the softness of her hand, your tears seeping down into the bedsheets, “ you were going to kill me. ”

Kate huffed, then straightened up, her touch leaving you, beginning to pull off her suit jacket. She wore a gun harness beneath that you tried to ignore.

“But I didn’t, did I?” She casually argued, “in fact, you got off easily with a spanking.”

Your gaze met hers. You wanted to scream. She stood there, all calmly, as if you were  throwing a tantrum for no reason. 

“You - you pointed a gun at me!!”

“I’m a mob boss,” she casually pointed out, rolling up her sleeves as you tried not to look at her forearms. “It really shouldn’t surprise you.”

You looked away. In this room, she was the dangerous one. You could scream, cry, claw at her desperately - and she could easily shoot you. Leave your messed up brain splattered across her light, expensive bed sheets.

“There is a mole in my gang.” A flicker of a lighter and the sound of Kate breathing in as a cigarette was lit. You listened to her blow out the smoke before she continued. “I want you to help me find out who they are and what they want.”

The hand that touched your cheek once again became wet with your tears.

“Why should I?” You asked.

“Won’t kill you then.”

Alice would have… Alice would have thought a lot of things, but she was dead. The sister shaped hole in your heart screamed that dying meant meeting her again. It meant peace for once, the pain of going to her funeral gone. Perhaps you would be buried next to her. Then again, if it was the Watcher or the 141 gang in general, who killed you, you would probably end up somewhere where nobody would find you for at least 10 years. Perha–

Snap!

You blinked wildly as Kate pulled back her fingers after having snapped them right in front of your face.

“C’mon Fae,” Her voice was gentler somehow and she sat down next to you. The gun in the holster that you had spotted just moment ago was gone - put away while you were lost in your own mind, “Where is that strong, dangerous kidnapper of mine, hm?”

You frowned, but didn’t push her away as she gently caressed your cheek. You had stopped crying without realising. 

“Don’t remember me bein’ a good kidnapper,” you argued stubbornly, voice not as strong as before. An amused huff left Kate.

“Not really,” her hand ran along your back, along your spine, stopping just at the edge of the sweatpants, “But you are a good hacker.”

You wanted her to touch you so badly - even as your asscheeks were still warm from the spanking, you wanted the same hands to run along the rest of your body. Damn your tired, fucked up, horny mind for wanting this woman.

“You know, good girls get rewards,” she continued as her fingers ran up along your spine again, voice much softer, “even for small things.”

Her hand repeated the pattern. Her long legs crossed next to you, blue eyes watching you intensely. Like a spider, trying to lure in its prey to the web, promising safety. If you did this - perhaps you could get out quicker? Being allowed to leave instead of having to run off? 

“I need access to electronics then,” you pointed out carefully. It would give you an opportunity to check out possible ways to run off as well. 

“Already done,” those two words were almost cooed at you and the hand from your spine disappeared, only to return to your chin. Your face was tipped towards her and she was leaning down - and before you knew what was happening, she was kissing you. It was short, but sweet and it left you breathless as she pulled back again. She was grinning and you felt like the world had stopped moving for just a moment. 

“Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll get you some new clothes and access to a laptop then,” she offered, hand still on your chin. You just mutely nodded. Kate smiled, her thumb moving to touch your bottom lip for just a moment before pulling back.

“C’mon then, Fae,” she said, giving your ass a smack, pulling you from your trance as the pain spread, making you curse.

Bloody hell.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Perhaps it had been naive of you to believe they would give you free access to a laptop, without supervision. Nope. You had one displeased Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick breathing down your neck, watching you work. He had apparently been one of those not able to catch you earlier - so they drew lots and he lost, earning the duty of being your guard for the rest of the day. Which apparently didn’t interest him one bit. If you had to listen to one of his stupid ass questions one more time, you were going to –

“What are you doing now?” 

You closed your eyes with annoyance. You couldn’t hit him. You couldn’t hit him. 

“I’m writing a code.”

“For what?”

“To help me look for discrepancies in your security system,” you patiently answered. What annoyed you the most was that you were pretty sure that Kyle knew most of what he asked about. It almost seemed like a petty way to get back at you.

“Ever considered running competitively?” Yeah, he was definitely doing his best to annoy you.

“Nope. Only do that when I fear for my life.” You dryly answered, making the other man snicker. Your fingers never stopped their dance across the keyboard.

“It was impressive.”

“Thanks, it sucked.”

“Bet the spanking was worse.”

Your fingers stopped and you took a deep breath, pretending you didn’t want to run away with shame. Another snicker left him. Of course they all knew about it. You returned to your task, continuing to go through the different files.

“The running were worse,” you just muttered. Kyle seemed amused at that.

“Well you can always ask for mo–”

“Does Kate have any enemies?” you asked, cutting his no doubt embarrassing comment off, as you stared at a file, before following its trail that had been somewhat deleted.

“Plenty,” Kyle answered, “The 141 isn’t really buddies with anyone, you know?” 

“Kate in particular-” you asked.

“Nobody knows she is the leader outside the main ring - except you of course but–” 

“Somebody does now.” You turned the laptop towards him more, “Because the mole told them.”

1: Watcher _s Kate Laswell. N_t John Price. 2: Good work. You w_ll be r_warded. 1: The h_cker is still aliv_. 2: Del_te th_s_ emails w_th the virus I s_nt you. I will contact yo_ o__r t_e ph_ne.

You watched Kate Laswell, John Price and Simon Ghost Riley all bend over to look at the laptop screen. 

“And you don’t know who any of the senders are?” Ghost asked even though you had already told them so.

“No. The virus was self-destructive in a way. I don’t know, I need more time to find out something.”

“How old is this?” 

“I don’t know exactly but…” you didn’t want to say it out loud because if you did, it felt more real.

“But you’re mentioned in there,” Price concluded as he straightened his back, before looking over at Kate, the two of them having an almost silent conversation. 

You didn’t like this one bit. If Alice had been alive she would have found this hilarious , teasing with how you were such a bad kidnapper, that you got kidnapped in return and pulled into a bigger mobster mess.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Kate Laswell had pretty fingers. 

Those pretty fingers showed you a good time that night. Kate hadn’t been kidding when she promised you a reward for finding something. 

It wasn’t anything wild, she got you off on her hand, yet it was more than you had expected and it was everything you had dreamt off. She had cooed in your ear as you tried fucking yourself harder on your finger, calling you beautiful. Touching the fat on your stomach and giving it a squeeze, fingers running along your stretch marks, teasing your nipples, even slapping your pussy once - and it turned you on so much more than you liked to admit.  Your back was pressed against her front and she never undressed herself, but she had you sit in between her legs, not wearing anything.

Tipping your head to the side to kiss you again, murmuring praise, leaving small kisses down your neck and throat, but not leaving a mark behind. The only marks from the whole ordeal were the ones on your ass.

That night you slept next to Kate. Why exactly she kept you in her bed, you weren’t sure - the mattress beneath you was soft, it wasn’t too hot or too cold, everything was physically perfect. But you couldn’t sleep.

When you got up to go to the bathroom, Kate muttered a few nonsensical things, but didn’t wake up properly. You didn’t turn on the light in the bathroom, your eyes getting used to the dark. You were tired. 

You had eaten earlier, without any form of defiance - but the soles of your feet were sore and had small cuts and skin scraping from your escape attempt - your ass was still a little sore from the spanking as well. 

The person in the mirror didn’t feel like you. You weren’t supposed to be here, in a wealthy bathroom, surrounded by all kinds of stuff that you would never need. 

You opened the bathroom door, but stopped. There was a bump outside the door - a small groan - then another small bump, making you frown. It was around 3 am if you weren’t wrong. You heard the other door to the bedroom open, making you freeze… panic surged through you, making it hard to breathe, because the person stepping in wasn’t anyone you had seen before.

[robbersofmyheart]

A coffee shop meeting…

Summary: Fate steps in when a teacher in her not-even-quarter-life crisis meets Matty Healy.

A/N: There's a very strong possibility that I'll never post any other writing on here again, but I hope this brings a smile to someone else's face. This was a daydream born of my love both for the 1975 (Matty in particular tbh) and for the found family trope. Hope you enjoy it!

“You don’t happen to have a light, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t smoke it.”

“I’ve done a lot worse, believe me.”

“Oh, I know. Doesn’t make that nicotine any better for you though.”

Eleanor looked across at her companion, eyebrows raised in challenge, waiting to see if he had a comeback. The café, which had been heaving when she arrived a couple of hours ago, now had only two customers remaining. In their typical British fashion, they hadn’t spoken until now, despite being alone at their adjacent tables, so Eleanor was surprised to hear him finally breaking the ice over the rattling of coffee cups being tidied away. She watched as he put the cigarette back into the packet, a smirk overtaking his features.

“So you do recognise me then.”

Crap. Of course that’s what he took from that. Matty Healy - 1, Eleanor - 0.

“Yes, I recognised you, Matty,” Eleanor replied with a sigh. She couldn’t believe she’d lost that easily.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You were the only one in here that could see my face.”

“I was working,” she paused. “Or at least trying to. I don’t usually focus well in busy places, too many more interesting things to study.”

“Why are you here then?”

“My cousin lives in Manchester and I’d come to visit him. We managed to have half a day before he got called in for a last-minute shift at work. I missed my train home by literally seconds, then I saw that the next one was cancelled, so I thought I’d get some planning done while I wait for the one after to arrive.”

Matty was listening to her intently now, his chin resting on his hand. Eleanor wondered what he was doing here. Since he arrived, he’d alternated between drinking cups of coffee, scribbling frantically in his Moleskine, and watching the comings and goings of customers out of the corner of his eye. Before she could ask him, however, he dived in with yet another question for her

“And what sort of planning would that be?”

“Factorising quadratics with Year 9, area of a trapezium with Year 7, and recurring decimals revision with Year 11.”

Matty exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair, the glint in his eye telling her that he was impressed. “You’re a maths teacher then.”

“Bingo.”

“That must be a tough gig.”

“Just a bit.”

“You seem quite young to be a teacher.” It was a statement, but the furrow in his brows betrayed his confusion.

“I’m 22, so I guess I am.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Eleanor hesitated, considering what her reply would be, and Matty waited patiently, almost watching the cogs turning in her brain. “I do, for the most part. I work with an amazing team of people, and I love seeing the difference I make to those kids’ lives. Not everyone has that purpose, so I’m lucky really.”

Matty narrowed his eyes at her, knowing that she wasn’t telling the full story. And that was how Eleanor found herself pouring her heart out to the curly haired singer, the troubles that she had bottled up inside her for months finally breaking free, whether she liked it or not.

She told him about how she lived in a permanent state of exhaustion, tired from the never-ending to do lists and the unbearable repetitiveness of her daily life. She told him about the part of her that regretted throwing herself into such a big career at such a young age, and how she felt that she missed her chance to be young and wild and carefree because she’d always been so focused on her work. She told him about how she’d thought about leaving her current life behind and starting again so many times, but had ultimately been too scared of failing and letting people down when they’d given up so much to help her get to where she was now.

To his surprise, Matty didn’t feel like interrupting her once during her monologue. He simply wanted to let her talk, to let her share her thoughts with him. It was like he could actually see some of the weight lifting off the girl’s shoulders as she unburdened herself of her worries, and it almost made him smile to think that she felt comfortable enough to tell him when he somehow knew that she had never told anyone else. So he just listened, letting her ramble on until she ran out of things to say.

When that time finally came, Eleanor let out a big exhale and looked Matty in the eye as he responded with one word: “Wow.”

Eleanor felt her face start to burn and she buried it into her hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. This is probably the last way you wanted to spend your afternoon, being on the receiving end of my word vomit.”

“You know what, it actually made a refreshing change. Didn’t expect to get recruited as a therapist today.” Matty watched her shoulders start to shake under her blanket of blonde waves, and was shocked at the worry he felt that she might be crying. But when she looked up she was giggling, despite the faint sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Oh, so you’re my therapist now?”

“You mean you didn’t purposefully choose me? I’m wounded.” That made her laugh properly this time, and Matty found himself unable to hold a soft smile back any longer before his expression turned more serious. “Look, I’m not going to pretend like I know how to solve your problems, and I’m not even sure if you want me to, but can I say one thing?” She nodded. “I think that if the people that you’re worried about letting down really love you, they’ll be more upset if you carry on doing something that’s making you miserable for their sakes than if you give it up.”

Eleanor mulled over the singer’s words and whilst she knew deep down that they were true, it didn’t change the fact that she was absolutely terrified at the idea of giving up teaching. Below the supportive façades, she knew her parents would always berate her for leaving such a stable, well-paid career, and her pride would never let her return to work at her current school with people that she adores if this mysterious plan B failed. She relayed all of this to Matty.

“Well who gives a flying fuck what anyone else thinks anyway! What’s the point in life if you don’t do something you love?”

“But teaching is the only thing I’ve ever even contemplated doing, I’ve got absolutely no idea what else I’d do.”

“Listen, you’re young, intelligent, beautiful, and you’ve literally got the whole world out there with so many possibilities - it doesn’t matter if you don’t get it right first time.”

“Careful, Healy, I might start thinking you like me,”

Now, if you asked Matty Healy of The 1975 why his immediate response was to do a stereotypically girlish impression of that comment before flipping off the young woman sat in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Nor could he explain why, after only an hour of talking to her, he felt such an incredible fondness for her, an almost brotherly affection, which prompted him to tell her how amazing she seemed to be. But he could describe how his heart soared as she laughed at him, and then sunk as she realised the time and started hurriedly packing her stuff into her bag.

“Shit, shit, shit. Do you think I can make the train in 5 minutes? I can’t miss this one as well. This is all your fault you know!”

“Hang on, how is it my fault? You’re the one who started emptying your brains onto the table.”

“And you were the one who made the mistake of listening.” Eleanor swung her bag onto her shoulder, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

Then she was running out of the coffee shop, a blur of blonde hair and floral perfume.

It was only then that Matty realised he didn’t even know her name.

***

1 year later…

“Lovely to meet you, take care.”

As soon as the interviewee had left the room, the smiles on four of the five faces dropped and they let out a sigh.

“Guys, if you want to actually do this, we do need to hire someone.”

Matty tugged at his hair in frustration. “It’s not that we’re not on board with it, Jamie, it’s just got to be with the right person. I mean, it’s letting someone totally unknown to us into an entire chapter of our lives, not just our careers.”

It was just over a month ago that The 1975 had told Jamie Oborne that they were ready to start working on their next album. In the same meeting, Jamie had proposed an idea that he had been mulling over for a while. The response to ‘A Theatrical Performance of an Intimate Moment’ had been better than anyone had anticipated, and the fans always loved seeing behind the scenes footage. So, Jamie had suggested filming the entire journey of their next album, from concept to creation to tour, and releasing it as a mini-series. Of course, the band could get the footage themselves, but whether they would actually remember to do it was a different story.

That was how they found themselves in a boiling hot room in the London office of Dirty Hit, having collectively decided against all 15 people they had interviewed for the role of documentarian.

“I mean, they all just seem so serious,” Matty continued.

“Boring, you mean,” George muttered.

“This thing does have to look good, though, for it to work, and these were the most qualified of all the candidates,” Jamie countered.

“We don’t fucking care about qualified!”

“I think what Matty’s trying to say, mate,” Ross calmly cut in, “Is that we were thinking of something more low key. More of a collection of home movies than something carefully filmed and edited.”

“Yeah, we don’t know how long this thing is going to go on for, way over a year at least, and we don’t want to feel like we’re putting on a show the whole time. It’s got to be authentic. It’s gonna be fucking weird at the start but after a while we just want it to be like a mate is casually filming what we’re doing.”

Jamie had to admit that George closed their argument well, and he was sold on it. He just wished that they had told him sooner.

“Okay, okay, I get it and I’m happy for us to go ahead with that. There’s one more person for us to speak to today, who was kind of my wildcard, so if she’s more what you’re looking for then we can revisit some of the other applications tomorrow.” With that, Jamie left the room to get the last candidate.

“A wildcard? What is this, mid-2000s X Factor?” Matty huffed, to the amusement of the others.

But any annoyance that Matty felt was washed away in an instant when he saw who his manager was holding the door open for.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Matty’s words might have sounded rude, but it was the smile spreading across his face that shocked everyone the most.

“I’m here in an attempt to annoy you for longer this time,” Eleanor smirked.

“Well, you’re failing miserably at this point. How are you?”

“I’m good. Really good, actually.” A genuine smile crossed her face this time. “Didn’t think you’d remember me to be honest.”

“I often wondered what you decided to do with your life in the end,” Matty shrugged. “It frustrated me knowing everything and then nothing at all. So I guess you have already succeeded in your goal to annoy me.”

Before you had chance to reply, another voice broke through to join the conversation. “Sorry to interrupt this lovely chat, but would someone kindly explain what the hell is going on here?” It was George, and he, like everyone else in the room, was stumped by Matty’s sudden personality transplant.

Now very aware of all of the eyes on her, she looked to Matty for help, who simply sat back in his chair before saying “Well, I think you’re sat in the better seat for a storytime, don’t you? Anyway, I don’t even know your name.”

So Eleanor told the room about how she had met their frontman, briefly mentioning the life crisis that she’d been having at the time, whilst Matty impatiently waited to hear what happened after she left the coffee shop. She told them how she’d stayed in teaching until the end of that school year, before handing in her notice. Her boss had been sad to see her go, but told her that if she ever decided that she wanted to come back then he’d always find a job for her. Eleanor’s family, however, reacted quite differently; she ended up having a massive row with her parents about it and her relationship with them still hadn’t quite mended fully. Ever since her move to London, she had been taking whatever bar jobs she could find and spent her days applying to any jobs that took her fancy.

Matty couldn’t help the pride that was coursing through him for the young woman sat across from him. She had taken all of those ‘What ifs’ that she’d told him about, thrown them in the fire and walked away, when he knew that all of her instincts would have been telling her to do the opposite. He looked around at the others, and was both amused and pleased to find that they all seemed to be as entranced by Eleanor as he had been at their first meeting. In Matty’s eyes, she was the perfect fit, and he could tell that she was quickly winning the others over as well.

Surprisingly, it was Adam who spoke up first. “So, you’re saying that you’re totally unqualified for this job?”

“Never done anything like it before in my life. But it sounded interesting and I’m always up for learning new stuff.”

“Never been behind a camera? Never had anything to do with the music industry?” Ross asked, slightly taken aback by her honesty.

“Not the music industry, but I used to study music at school and I still play the piano from time to time.”

“And I take it you’re on board for annoying Matty as much as humanly possible?” It was George this time.

“Oh 100%.”

Matty rolled his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. She’d done it. Now, there was only one person left to convince. Matty quickly joined the others in looking at Jamie the way they used to look at their parents when the ice cream van pulled up on their road.

Eleanor watched on nervously as some sort of telepathic conversation seemed to transpire between the band and their manager.

Eventually, the silence broke and a new chapter began.

[nuttytani]

When your boss and his "friend" are too lovey dovey

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Tartaglia | Childe x Zhongli

Premise: In which, Ekaterina makes the mistake of posting about her boss and his "friend", and the entire Liyue goes crazy

A/N: This is a social media au fic cross posted from my ao3! which you can read here

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chapter 1

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Ekaterina . @ katyaaa  

My boss and his “friend” better hook up, or I’ll seriously kill someone. How is it possible to not notice the heart eyes your “friend” looks at you with, for like every time you talk??!?? 2 years. It’s been 2 years since both Master Childe and Mr. Zhongli have been dancing around each other. 2 YEARS!!!!

And just now… You literally won’t believe the level of PDA I had to witness. Mr. Zhongli lent his coat to Master Childe  because his official uniform is too “risque” and “insufficient” for Liyue’s winter.

It’s not even 9 am yet… I need coffee for this shit.

| Vlad . @ vladaddy

Replying to @ katyaaa

You’re not the only one. Sweet Tsaritsa, have mercy on us.

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Ekaterina . @ katyaaa

Update: He finally went out to have lunch with his “friend”. Thank archons. 

| Nadia . @ spynadia

Replying to @ katyaaa

You gotta admit, they’re pretty much couple goals, even without the dating. 

| Xiangling . @ cheflingling 

Replying to @ spynadia and @ katyaaa 

[Insert blurry image of two people, one with ginger hair and another with dark brown. The brunette looks like he’s feeding the ginger haired man. They’re both basically glue to each other’s side]

Awwe, look at them!! How cute! 

| Felix . @ felixis 

Replying to @ cheflingling 

Definitely did NOT need that image on my home feed and it definitely does NOT make me feel sour ass single pringle. 

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa  

Replying to @ cheflingling 

What happened to something called privacy ? 

| Yunjin . @ operagrandis 

Replying to @ katyaaa  

Privacy went out the window the moment you decided to post about your “boss” crushing on his “friend” and vice versa

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Signora . @ thefairestlady 

Hey. @ katyaaa , dig up some more pics and info on the two idiots in love. Tsaritsa’s orders 

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa         

Replying to @ thefairestlady 

What ? 

| Pantalone . @ theregrator

Replying to @ katyaaa and @ thefairestlady 

Don’t bother asking why, it’s strictly confidential. Oh and also, make it quick :)

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Ekaterina stares at her phone in horror as the notifications from her socials go blasting off every- freaking- second. Not to mention, the weird, suspicious and vague “mission” about digging more information on her boss and his “friend” 

Ugh. Why is she the one who has to suffer? 

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chapter 2

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First thing Ekaterina does is to mute her socials. The constant pinging of the notifications started to annoy her and it might overheat her phone too. 

“-terina” 

She shouldn’t have posted about her boss. Worst decision she ever made in her entire life- well… not exactly the worst but definitely ranks up high somewhere in the regrets list. 

“Ekaterina?”

But to be fair, it was getting on her nerves recently, since Mr. Zhongli got very bold with his affection towards Master Childe recently, and well… her boss being the oblivious and dense person he is, hasn’t even noticed the advances, and instead he just shoots his “friend” an extremely blushy smil-

Woah —

Something- no - a pair of hands grab Ekaterina’s shoulders and shake the living soul out of her body. “Oww.”

“Katya! Come on! I’ve been calling your name so many times now. Where is your mind at?” Nadia, one of her colleagues and friend, stares at her with concern.

“Sorry,” Ekaterina replies, pushing her hair back. “Was thinking…”

“Is it the new mission?”

“Yeah.” 

She shoots Ekaterina a pitiful look before handing her a cup of coffee. “Better start the hustle then. Call me or the others if you need help. And boy, we have a lot of work cut out for us.” Nadia ushers her away to her office, “Go, go, time is mora. Don’t waste it.”

With that, the door to her office closes. Ekaterina places her coffee on the table and pulls out her chair, before remembering to check her phone. 

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Notifications 

Signora . @thefairestlady 

3 messages 

Pantalone . @theregrator 

1 message

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Back to regretting my life choices, I guess. 

It took about a week to stalk gather intel on Master Childe and Mr. Zhongli’s time together. Stacks of brown envelopes and manila folders, labelled as “CONFIDENTIAL : FATUI ONLY” covered the entire top of Ekaterina’s dining table (scouring over reports about a harbinger’s rendezvous with a funeral consultant during working hours would have been too much on the nose)

The mission became a joint effort between her and other agents working at the Northland Bank. It was found out on their first day, that it wasn’t an easy task observing their extremely lovey dovey targets… The PDA displayed by them was too much (it was lethal to the agents’ health to watch them longer than an hour).

As the mission is classified to be confidential, and specially ordered by her majesty, Ekaterina and the agents couldn’t take any risks to get information leaked about whatever the heck they were doing. So, everyone opted for hard copy reports which could be destroyed once it fulfilled its use.

But no one expected it to be a massive headache as Ekaterina and her colleagues went through each one of them.

“When will this end?! There’s too many,” Felix breaks the silence with a groan, then slams his head down on the table.

“I feel like I’ve already read the same report a million times now, just worded differently.” Vlad rubs his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Every single day, they eat lunch together at Chef Mao’s, go to Yun Jin’s plays, or sometimes to Third-Round Knockout and finally crash at either one’s home for dinner, did I get that right?”

“You’re correct, except for one thing. Everything and everything is paid by Lord Tartaglia,” Felix responded, seemingly recovered from his exhaustion. 

Everyone hums in union. 

To be fair though, the mora used by Master Childe on his outings weren’t really his, but Lord Pantalone’s. Hell, even Ekaterina would exploit 9th Harbringer’s mora (if she had a higher standing in the fatui, of course)

“Lets not forget these.” With the most deadpan expression, Vlad tosses pictures of the “dates” their boss and his “friend” had, but many many cropped pictures of Master Childe’s chest framed perfectly by his leather harness, stood out from the stack.

“Who took these?” and “Why?” was left unsaid amongst them all. 

Nadia choked suspiciously on air just then. Nervously shifting her eyes around. 

Thinking to save her friend from embarrassment, Ekaterina tries to change the subject. “Ahem, anyway, since all the reports are basically the same, let’s just summarise it.” 

“Umm something along the lines of … Master Childe is a sugar daddy for Mr. Zhongli and they act like a married couple?” Felix says while rubbing his chin in deep thought. 

“Let's… At least try to rephrase our wording, not so straightforward.” Vlad smiles, or at least tries to. 

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chapter 3

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Childe . @ tartaglia

Why did I receive an emergency summon from her majesty? 

| Signora . @ thefairestlady

Replying to @ tartaglia 

Idk, you probably did something. Again. 

| Pantalone . @ theregrator

Replying to @ tartaglia and @ thefairestlady

Only one way to find out. 

| Lumine . @ thebettertraveller

Replying to @ tartaglia 

GL, I hope you don’t get your ass kicked. 

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Ekaterina . @ katyaaa

Phew! Mission successfully completed and with a generous reward too! I’m glad all that stalking of Master Childe paid off. 

| Childe . @ tartaglia

Replying to @ katyaaa

You were spying on me? Don’t tell me this is the reason why I’ve been summoned… 

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa 

Replying to @ tartaglia 

Spying ? hahaha what spying ? I don’t know what you’re talking about :DDD

| Felix . @ felixis 

Replying to @ katyaaa 

You’re so fired. Stupid ass. 

[ insert facepalm GIF ]

| Childe . @ tartaglia 

Replying to @ felixis and @ katyaaa 

Oh don’t worry, you’re both in trouble, and so is Nadia and Vlad ;)

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa 

Replying to @ tartaglia 

Please have mercy, my lord! 

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Meanwhile, in the privacy of Zhongli’s home, an elegantly written note addressed not to Zhongli, but Morax, materialises right in front of him.

 “You shameless old dragon, get your broke ass to Snezhnaya now! We need to talk” 

Never in his life did Childe feel as nervous and scared until today. He was shaking in his boots as he looked back and forth between her majesty and Mr. Zhongli (alternatively Rex Lapis, as he just found out… but that can be discussed later). He didn’t think that he’d get summoned by The Tsaritsa nor did he expect Mr. Zhongli, who was supposed to be in Liyue doing his job, to be invited to her majesty’s garden for tea.

Tea? Nope this isn’t tea, this is basically an interrogation session! 

“Now, let me get this straight. You gave the boy a pair of marriage chopsticks and he accepted it?” Tsaritsa raised her teacup to her scowling lips slowly.

Hold on, wait a minute… Marriage chopsticks? 

“That is correct–”

“And you thought that my youngest, born and raised in Snezhnaya would understand the meaning behind this act? You didn’t think this through did you, Morax? How embarrassing, I suppose Barbatos is still right, you ARE a stone blockhead.”

Mr. Zhongli coughed discreetly to disguise his embarrassment, before taking a sip from his cup, “Now please, Tsaritsa, there’s no need to chastise me for it.” 

“I must, with how you shamelessly court my youngest Harbinger without my knowledge.” Tsaritsa’s eyes narrow down at Zhongli, like a mother ready to scold.

Childe watches the entire exchange in shock– courting ? Mr. Zhongli and courting ? Just what in Celestia is happening ? He must have looked like a dumbfounded monkey, staring at them, until her majesty’s words interrupt his inner turmoil.

“Well,” she says curtly “Has the wedding date been set? If not, I shall take care of it.”

Sputtering and hacking on his tea, Childe replied, “W-What!??”

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Bonus scene 

“Lord Tartaglia! Congratulations, we heard you’re getting married–”

“My my! What good news! I can feel the tears of joy in my eyes already”

“How shocking… It feels as if just yesterday you were but a little boy running around the palace”

[dysfunctional-doodle]

too many turtles chapter drop on my birthday let’s gooooo

(if i accidentally sent an ask too soon then. oops)

1. that sounds like a fucking AWESOME sandwich

2. that’s such a mikey and donnie thing to do omg

one of my favourite gags of this fic is raph reacting to the fourth wall breaking with this irritated and tired confusion,,,,, honestly any turtle reacting to the fourth wall breaks is gold

raph honey it’s 2024 among us is dead……….. (hehehhehehehhee. because. in among us. you. heheh. you die. hhehehshheheh)

ADORABLE!!!!!!!!! MORE MAMA RAPH PLEASE

GOD this is SUCH an accurate depiction of an adhd friendgroup i SWEARRRRR

once again 2012 mikey proves to be just like me because we used to have a yamaha keyboard and all i would do on it was spam press the funny sound effects. god that’s such a fun thing to do (also i love the sound of the metal pipe crashing ??????????????? idk why it’s funny?????????????????????? sometimes i try to recreate the sound to reference that one post that goes something like ‘*beats you with a metal pole* sorry. accident. *beats you with a metal pole* sorrgy. *beats you with a metal pole* *peats you with a metal pole* *beats you with a metal pole*. why are you bleeding’)

i applaud the patience to answer those questions. please share some with me pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

ah, impulse control. i love how literally none of them have it

the instant regret…… i know it well. (biggest examples of me instantly being crushed with “oh shit, i shouldn’t have done that, dumb idiot brain” was when i poured yoghurt on my friend’s head (i didn’t even think about it. i just did it. and i freaked out) and when i kicked a baby doll at a drawer at my grandma’s little bonus kawalerka thing and completely shattered a vase that was probably quite a bit older than me (i had no idea i could kick that well oh my god…. (wait that was exactly two years ago i swear this happened on my fourteenth birthday??? crazy how time passes))

well that went!

awesome chapter as per the norm!!!!!!!!!!!! love when the fic gets silly (as awesome as the angst is too i definetly prefer shenanigans)

anyways how excited are you for tales of the tmnt?

Happy birthday!

And I am eager to watch tottmnt but it comes out a day later in the UK 😭

[gardensgatekeeper]

Angel Straight from Hell - Part 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Language, fluff, mentions of infidelity, jealousy, angst, fingering, (slight) overstimulation, degradation. Pure filth. As always, let me know if I missed any!

If you haven't already, make sure to read Part 1!

Update: All parts of this story have been combined and posted here!

As soon as the two of you got home, Jake dropped his keys in the bowl by the front door before heading upstairs. Of course, you followed hot on his trail, still trying to explain yourself but all you were met with was a soft, emotionless, “I don’t want to talk about it tonight Y/N.” The way he said your name instead of the way he always used some version of a pet name stung worse than it should have. You knew he had to be feeling something – anger, jealousy, sadness – but he was just calm. He entered the bathroom attached to the bedroom, locking himself in for a few minutes to get ready for bed. You paced outside the door, wondering if you had completely ruined the only good thing in your life. Had you selfishly thrown away a perfectly good relationship for one night of pleasure?

Jake soon emerged and walked past you as he made his way to the bed, setting his phone on the charger on the nightstand. “Jake.” you whispered out again, “Please talk to me.” This time, he did, turning towards you ever so slightly, which got your hopes up just a little. Truthfully, you’d take him yelling and throwing things over this deafening silence any day. “Goodnight Y/N.” He said as he flipped the light off, leaving you standing in the now dark room. Your heart sank to the floor as the tears began to stream down your face. How were you going to fix this?

Your head hung low as you walked out into the hallway, opting to sleep on the couch tonight because the thought of sleeping next to someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with you was just too painful to bear. Luckily, you had just done laundry earlier that day, so you headed back downstairs to grab a change of clothes before making your way to your makeshift bed for the evening.

You heard your phone ding nearby, only then remembering dropping it in the bowl with Jake’s keys earlier. When you checked the notification, you saw a text from an unsaved number.

Unknown: Hey it’s Danny. Got your number from Josh. How are things?

You: He won’t talk to me. I really fucked up. I shouldn’t have done it and I don’t know how I’m gonna fix it.

Danny: It was a mutual decision Y/N, we were both in the wrong. Just let him sleep it off. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Get some rest.

You sighed, dropping your phone back on the entryway table before dropping face first on the couch. The guilt and regret was eating you alive as you cried yourself to sleep, wishing there was any way you could go back in time and fix things.

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The next morning, you woke up confused as you were no longer on the couch, but back in your bed. Your heart panged a bit as you turned to find the empty spot next to you neatly made up. As your senses began to wake up, you smelled coffee brewing, immediately hopping out of bed to find Jake standing in front of the bay window watching the sun slowly peek over the trees in the backyard. He must have heard you come downstairs as he gently spoke up, his voice almost sounding foreign as you hadn’t heard it in so long. “Poured you a cup. Two sugars and a dash of creamer, just how you like it.” You muttered a “Thank you.” before finding the mug sitting on the counter by the coffee pot.

Walking over to him, you sat your mug down on the side table before turning to him. “Jake, about last night…” You started. “Am I not good enough for you anymore?” He whispered out, his words stabbing through your heart like a sword. “Jake, no. No, that’s not it at all. I just, I don’t know, I was drunk and I know that’s not an excuse but you were busy and it just happened. I’m sorry Jake, I wish I could take it back, I really do. I fucked up and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

He was silent for a moment as if taking in your words to determine his next response. “Is that what you really wanted though? With Danny?” an unknown tone lacing his words.

“It’s not something I planned on happening, but it just did.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Did you enjoy it?” He asked.

Oh. Unsure of exactly what he was getting at, you decided to tread lightly to test the waters. “I mean it was good, but nothing compared to you Jake. Nobody could ever make me feel as good as you do.” You replied honestly.

He shifted towards you, setting his coffee mug beside yours. You held your breath as you had no idea what his next move was going to be. Taking you completely off guard, Jake moved his hand to ghost ever so slightly over the top of the waistband of your shorts. His hands worked their way in, sliding his fingers over your core as you shuddered against his touch. Without warning, he slipped a finger in, a shaky gasp leaving your lips.

“Like this?” Your eyes were screwed shut but you could still sense the smirk on his face. “Jake.” you quietly moaned out, gripping his arm for support. Knowing he had you under his spell, he inserted another finger and your knees almost buckled when he began to curl them inwards. “Fuck!”

“I bet he doesn’t know all your favorite spots like I do.” Taking his other free hand, he lifted up your shirt before taking your left exposed nipple in his hand, twisting and pulling it until they were rock hard. You gasped out in a mix of pain and pleasure when he latched on, gently biting down on the sensitive bud for a moment before his lips ghosted your ear. “Doesn’t know that you’re an absolute whore for me. For my fingers. Isn’t that right?” You could hear the snarky tone that laced his words. Is he jealous?

“Only for you Jake. Please don’t stop.” You begged, already feeling the familiar pressure building in your core. “Oh trust me angel, you’ll be begging me to stop soon enough.” He continued curling his fingers around your bundle of nerves until cried out as you reached your high. But he kept going, teetering you on the edge of overstimulation. “C’mon, give me another one. Show me how sorry you are. Cum for me again like the desperate whore you are.” He demanded, not slowing down. Moments later you were gasping out as another orgasm ripped through you. “I can’t…Jake…” You failed to formulate a full sentence, but he knew. He withdrew his fingers, a quiet whimper escaping your mouth from the empty feeling. You were still holding on to his arm, barely able to keep yourself up as your legs felt like jelly.

You looked up at Jake as he brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean of your release. “Tastes like heaven.” Your mind clouded with thoughts as you immediately remembered the same words muttered by his best friend and bandmate just the night before.

Snap out of it Y/N, that’s what got you in trouble in the first place!

“Let���s get you cleaned up shall we?” He smirked as he scooped you in his arms, carrying you to the bathroom upstairs, running a warm bath with your favorite lavender soaks. You sighed in complete relaxation from the warm water but also feeling like things were okay again with Jake. He sat beside you, the two of you just enjoying each other's company without needing to speak. You noticed he was checking his phone quite a bit, assuming it was probably one of the guys since they had a shared group chat to discuss all things band related. Or by the smirk on his face, maybe one of them sent something funny? Whatever the reason was, you decided to shut your eyes and just relax for a few more minutes.

That was, until he spoke up again. "By the way, we're having company tonight."

✶ ✶ ✶

Taglist:

@jannysarcher @jamiek05

[lobsessed-fanl]

Day 4: sound

summary:

3 in one with Emmet dealing with sound and one where he deals with having none

Sorry it is late. I am working on posting this and as many of the others that I can today.

Or read below the cut!

1 : Ingo and Emmet had turned ten today! That meant that they could use Lavender and Tiny in true battles now! Emmet was verrrry excited! Emmet and Ingo blew out the candles on their train themed cake  together after shouting “ALL ABOARD!!!” together. Ingo of course was much louder than Emmet. But Emmet didn’t mind. Ingo’s voice was a reminder that Ingo was there. And that they are at eachother's sides no matter what. 

That day, they got train whistles so that they could always whistle it and the other would be able to hear it and could come to them. A sound that they would remember far into the years to help eachother out.

However, for today their parents would regret it. As they were going to test it out all day. Good Thing they live quite a ways away from a lot of people, and most of their neighbours are all on trips. 

Unfortunately, they still had to go to school if they wanted a job that was train related.

2: Ingo and Emmet were in class. Emmet knew class was going to end soon and was verrrrry excited. Ingo was paying close attention to the voice of the teacher. Emmet meanwhile was doodling little trains and Tiny the Tynamo. Suddenly, the fire drill alarm went off. Loud. Way too loud. People moving. The loud beeping of the alarm. Everyone’s sudden voices. Too much. Way too much. A… a train whistle?

The train whistle quickly caught Emmet’s attention and snapped him out of it. He looked up to see Ingo, waiting for him. Ingo did his little cat smile. Emmet smiled wider at Ingo and got up and walked out the building together, holding eachothers hands, Emmet squeezing it a little bit. They then ran to catch up with their class.

3:  Today, Ingo and Emmet had gotten a machine to make announcements on. It worked verrrry well and could even handle Ingo’s regular, booming voice. Today was just a test day to make sure everything in the station was running smoothly. 

Ingo was looking very excited with the new announcement microphone. Ingo also looked like he wanted to do something he shouldn’t do. That ment it was Emmet’s time to encourage him. 

“Hey, Emmet. Do you think I should see if this can handle my voice?” Ingo asked.

“I am Emmet. Do you mean how much sound this can handle? I verrrry much do want to see it! Do it as loud as you can, Ingo!” Emmet encouraged. Ingo thought about it for a moment, then gave Emmet a mischievous nod.

“Okay. Here it goes.” Ingo started. Emmet quickly started recording. 

“All Abbboooooaaaaarrrrdd-” Ingo’s voice boomed into the Train announcements. Then, it broke.  Emmet burst into laughter as Ingo hid his face with his hat to hide his face and embarrassment. Then Emmet stopped recording and quickly put his phone away. 

“Lesson learned, Ingo. Do not use your proheting voice on the announcements.” Emmet said, getting up and writing down on a sticky note and putting it on Ingo’s forehead. 

“Emmet, what does this say?”

“I am Emmet! It is simply saying that you managed to do something that has never been done here before! Breaking the announcer with your verrrrry loud voice! And I am putting in my favour for this month to request that you keep that there all day.”

“You encouraged me to do it. And I will get you back someday soon. Know what? I’m cashing in mine to make you take out all the trash at home. How about that?” Ingo grumbled. Emmet didn’t care, it was worth it. 

4: Five weeks. Five weeks without Ingo. Five weeks without the noise that Ingo would make. Five weeks with silence. The silence was deafening. Nothing could fill the empty space that would be filled by Ingo. Emmet had tried to use the train whistle that he and Ingo had since they were ten, but Ingo never showed up. He laid on his bed. Rewatching that one moment Ingo had broken the announcements. Remember that one time in school Ingo had helped Emmet out when Emmet was overwhelmed. But Emmet could never get the voice to be the same volume as Ingo’s truly was. The sound was never quite right. Always off. 

Emmet did everything he could to remake the sound. Nothing worked. It was gone. The sound was gone forever: Emmet wanted to continue looking today like he did every day. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up. 

Maybe one day, Emmet would hear the sound of Ingo again. But that day wouldn’t be today.

[full---ofstarlight]

wip wednesday

idk if this will manifest into anything longer but i did want to post a little galevyre drabble because i am soooooooooooooo normal about them hahahahahahahahahaha ha anYway, this was conceived as a 5 x 1 which explains the first sentence:

--

The first: her eyes remind him of a fire. 

“Tell me — was it this resemblance that sparked your propensity towards evocation? Or is it all merely a coincidence?”

She scrunches up her nose, which Gale has learned to mean she is trying to find her words. That’s not entirely accurate. Delvyre has plenty of words — perhaps too many, which is why when she takes a pause to speak, that means she is carefully choosing which of the many words flitting through her mind should grace his presence. 

“It’s a coincidence,” are her chosen words, but then she also adds, “Mostly.” And that stirs his curiosity, but then she adds a third statement: “You’re not the first person to make this comparison, you know.”

“I’d be disappointed if I was.” 

“The first person is the reason.” She laughs, that full-bodied way she does, eyes crinkling shut and her teeth bared to the world. “My father used to call me his little flame.” And then she turns those golden flame-licked eyes towards him, not a trace of sadness or regret within them. “He died in a fire.” 

“That’s fascinating.”

Immediately, he regrets his choice of adjective. He shouldn’t be telling her that her father’s death is fascinating, because it isn’t. It’s tragic and sad, but what’s fascinating is that despite that, she chose to study elemental magic and harness flames of her own. What’s fascinating is how her eyes light up when she conjures fire and how in a heated blaze, her hair whips around her and it’s like she’s an inferno herself, the very thing that killed her father. 

But Delvyre tilts her head back as she looks at him, still smiling.

“I know, isn’t it? No one else seems to think so.” 

Her eyes crinkle again. Her smile widens. He sees that her left incisor is ever so slightly sharper and longer than her right. He wants to ask about that, wants to know if there’s a story behind her chipped tooth, just as much as he wants to ask about the scar across her face and the glimpse of the tattoo he’s seen on her left shoulder. But that would mean admitting that his gaze lingers on her, and he’s already admitted enough by talking about her flame-licked eyes.