#Nicotine Magazine

[fashionlandscapeblog]

J Moon captured by Bjarne Jonasson & Nanae Takata for Nicotine Magazine

[spilladabalia]

From original post by @distantvoices, reblogged right below this one

[bienenkiste]

Photographed by AruiLin for Nicotine Magazine

[monvirtu]

hey, could u write kenny mccormick dating headcanons ? fem reader . tyy

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐘

⋆ precis ~ what it's like dating kenny mccormick!

⋆ tags ~ profanity, mentions of smoke, drugs, teen!au, playful threats, and kenny being kenny.

⋆ notes ~ i hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!

⋆        to nobody's surprise, kenny would be the biggest flirt during your relationship.

⋆        at first, you didn't understand how someone could be so flirty. where did he learn how to swoon you with just his words? it's how you both got together, after all—him flirting with you every second of the day.

⋆        but then you went over to his house, and the posters and magazines he had answered your question.

⋆        he threw them away as soon as you saw them and replaced them with photos you took of him and you.

⋆        but back to the point, kenny would be really good with his words. he knows exactly what to say to make you flustered, but the downside is that he often says it during the worst time.

"you know, you're stunning when you're pissed..." kenny spoke as you shot a scowl at him. "kenneth, you almost got yourself fucking killed!"

"the only thing that can kill me is your looks, sweetheart."

"i'm going to find the car that almost hit you and make them come back for a second try."

⋆        he would be very crafty when it comes to gifts.

⋆        since he doesn't have a lot of money, he has to find ways to make dates and gifts as good as possible.

⋆        because according to him, you deserve everything you've ever wanted.

⋆        you want to go to a fancy restaurant? he'll set up something like the movie 'lady and the tramp', and though it wouldn't be a fancy place, he makes it feel like you're in the fanciest restaurant in the world.

⋆        when it comes to gifts, they're often flowers he picked or stole from places—a little letter being attached in his messy handwriting. he tries to make it readable, but you still have to squint when it comes to certain letters.

⋆        this dude smokes a lot, by the way.

⋆        whether it be nicotine or weed, don't ask him how he got them, he smokes it. why? because why not? his parents used to smoke it all the time, so why shouldn't he?

⋆        he would smoke in front of you if you were okay with it, or he would even share if you wanted, but he has no problem smoking some other time if you were against it.

⋆        would he quit? he might try, but it wouldn't last awhile. at least he tried though, right?

⋆        he would introduce you to karen, in which she would absolutely love you.

⋆        she would literally drag you away from kenny when you both were supposed to be hanging out, but he doesn't care. he loves seeing his two favourite people getting along and laughing.

⋆        but he will pout about it just so you'll give him some affection later on.

⋆        he's a good cuddler, honestly. he would just smell like smoke all the time. but if you don't care, then cuddling him is heaven because he's like a heater with that jacket.

⋆         if it's cold out, which it usually is, he'll unzip his jacket and let you lay on his chest, and then zip it back of while holding you in his arms.

⋆        he'd be a sloppy kisser, though. not in a bad way, but he just likes to lazily kiss you unless you're just giving him a peck on the lips.

⋆        also, if you're insecure, you best believe that kenny won't allowed that.

⋆        you could be talking about a part of you that you dislike, and he'd just stare at you with narrowed eyes before standing up and kissing that area all over.

⋆        he's whipped for you, and because of that, he has no issue doing whatever it takes to make you see how stunning you are.

⋆        someone made a comment? bro's throwing hands like there's no tomorrow. you just dislike that part of your body? he's yelling sweet nothings until you make him shut up.

⋆        he'd talk about you all the time with his friends.

⋆        even if you're not a part of the topic.

"kenny, do you wanna go look at some xbox games?"

"only if my pookie can come."

"KENNY, TELL CARTMAN TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"cartman, shut the fuck up, i'm talking to my pookie."

⋆        yes, he'd call you his pookie. he's all about those stupid nicknames.

⋆        pookie, honey boo-boo, schnookims, my silly willy little cutie, you name it. he'll make up anything just to hear you sigh at the stupid things he says.

⋆        but the things he says doesn't even compare to what he does.

⋆        you like superheroes? he'll dress up as mysterion.

⋆        you have a favourite flower? he always finds a way to get it to you every morning.

⋆        he once got caught stealing a flower from his neighbours yard one day, and he ran for his life.

⋆        speaking of his life, he tells you everything.

⋆        and when you talk about yours, he'll listen. he's actually a good listener.

⋆        also, when he speaks in a muffled voice because of his parka? he'll unzip it a bit and whisper in your ear to tease you during school.

⋆        he will literally mumble about how much he loves you and when someone comes over, he'll just zip up his jacket and start talking in that muffled voice again like he wasn't just expressing his devoted love to you.

⋆        conversations with him can go from 1 to 100 real quick, by the way.

"kenny?" you question, and he looks up from the sidewalk as you both continued to walk hand-in-hand. he gave you a slight nod to continue what you were wanting to say.

"how much do you love me?" he raised his free hand to unzip his jacket a bit, and he gave you a slight smile. "to the moon and back."

you smiled at him as you squeezed his hand, and suddenly, he smirked. "speaking of back, does my ass look fat today? i caught you staring earlier."

"KENNNY, NOBODY IS LOOKING AT YOUR ASS!"

"now, that's a lie. it's so fat that it takes up everyone's vision."

"i will shove you into oncoming traffic," your threat only made him snicker.

"my ass will act like an airbag."

⋆        aside from that, life's just like a comedy show with kenny.

©𝐌��𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐔𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

writings are to not be reposted, translated, or plagiarized. if you wish to show your love for my work, feel free to reblog, comment, or like.

[distantvoices]

Rylee Stumpf by Mark Lim for Nicotine Magazine March 2024. Makeup by Allie Smith.

[katboykirby]

So I like to think that cigarettes exist in the Devildom, and that they have their own brands and everything. Smoking is also probably more common and less stigmatised/hated than it is in (many places of) the human world. Humans are actually the reason that demons learned about smoking in the first place, and Devildom cigarettes are functionally identical to human-world cigarettes (since demons have basically copied the production method 1:1 from humans)

Demons aren't negatively affected by tobacco, nicotine, and smoking in general like humans are. So it's a lot more socially acceptable - it's still not common, but without the horrible side effects like lung cancer, heart disease, etc, it's not seen or thought of as a "bad habit" like it is for many humans.

Lucifer smokes occasionally, mostly for stress relief when he's overworked. He'll usually only indulge when he's on his own, mostly whenever he needs to calm down and decompress. The only room in the HoL where he'll smoke is in his study. Even for something as small as a cigarette, he doesn't like to be seen "relying" on anything to help him, thanks to his Pride.

Mammon will sometimes smoke, and he mostly does it when he's out at the club or in the casino. He's a "social smoker" like someone might be a social drinker. He's unlikely to ever pick up a cigarette at home or at RAD, but if he's out in the city partying the night away or gambling with a bunch of the Devildom's high-rollers, then he's more likely to light one up. He's also been photographed with cigs for the odd magazine spread.

Satan used to smoke, and he used to be the heaviest smoker in the family. He has since "quit" however, and claims that he no longer indulges in the habit. This is because he mostly smoked when he was younger and still full of rage, struggling to handle his Wrath without losing control of himself. Smoking helped him calm down and reduced his anger, and he would smoke for similar reasons as Lucifer (stress relief)

Satan maintains that he's put this part of his life behind him, though, and that it's been a very long time since he needed a crutch like cigarettes to help him stay calm. This is mostly true, though when exam season rolls around at RAD (and when he's stressed out trying to tutor five of his brothers as well as study for his own finals) Satan will secretly smoke in his room.

Diavolo doesn't normally smoke, but he'll do so on the rare occasions he meets with the Devildom's House of Lords. Many of the sitting members of the House smoke cigars or pipes, and Diavolo is socially savvy enough to light up a smoke as well in order to make a good impression. He may also smoke with Lucifer, but only if the Avatar of Pride pulls out his cigarettes first.

Mephistopheles has tried, on many occasions, to smoke with Diavolo whenever the Prince has done so - but Mephisto just turns into a coughing, spluttering mess every time. He can't handle even the mildest of cigarettes, and since it embarrasses him that he always starts choking and wheezing, he usually pretends that he hates smoking and will shit talk the habit.

[gofishygo]

price x trans ftm reader who started his transition later in life? like just thinking... they served a tour or two together before reader transitioned. had a little fling going on, potentially on the way towards more. but after whatever mission/tour theyre on is over, reader slowly stops keeping in contact with price.

years down the line, the reunite during some sort of mission. price recognizes readers last name or callsign but the face he's met with is different. this man is happier.

price and reader get to talking in some downtime and decide that once this is all over (the mission they're on), they'll try and take some time together to make up for all the time they'd lost together. and price gets to meet the real you.

[PRIDE MONTH- WEEK ONE] : through green hydrangeas (my heart lies) price x ftm reader (part 1/2)

notes : (somewhat innacurate) descriptions of military, injury, brief outlines of smut (no explicits mentioned), gender dysphoria, reader gets outed towards the end. this may be edited later on.

wc- 1.8k

urzikistan- take down six targets aligned with al quatala, all terrorist backgrounds. a mission where location and timing and team were everything, pointed into maps and plotted into files, handled with fine-cut secrecy, knife-point precision, landed directly into price's aged hands. And now, at the final stretch, he'd been handed a few recruits at his expense. Fought with laswell against them, argued that his team could run through the enemy.

(and by god, how can he focus on the task at hand when he sees the shine in that operator's eyes, the curvature of his face? warm and familiar, the mother's milk suckled by a pup.)

It’s odd, having to work with a man so similar to her. narrowed eyes and sharp teeth, even sharing the same gun hed swore he gifted her- considers for a moment that maybe she’d changed, now baring a different name on id’s and passports, records crossed out and scrawled over. stole her last name as well, and before he’d even met you, he had already considered asking laswell to ship you off to whatever pmc would accept you.

but at the same time, he bites his tongue, wire muzzle to some refectory dog.

you seem to truly be alive, words barked with flame, spilled from your stomach, full-toothed smile instead of the sleazy grin she wore. you are her and aren’t her- and sometimes, maybe, he lets himself think youre better. sweeter. hates the way he still gives you the same greeting as he did to that woman, selfishly using a subordinate to fill out some cavity in his chest. but he can’t have it any other way, doesn’t want to have it in any other way.

a world where slowing down didn’t mean stopping. had a nice ring to it.

-

it's 0400 on the day of deployment. there's brittle crust in the ducts of your eyes that you hadn't been able to wash of in the changerooms, and now you are holding onto gun and hanging onto the sky by plane, listening to the clicks as you load and unload the magazines. missions like these, capture-kills with enemies that outdid your measures of brutality and lived for the beliefs of bloodshed in liberty; they weigh in your chest, some layers of adrenal fear smuggled under the layers of methodical, stoical behaviour. the buzzing headache that never left as a child, the feel of pressure wrapped around crevices of the cerebellum, tightening.

in these plights, you'd used to knock on price's door, hands itching to roll into fist- turning the fear you'd guide like a shepherd into the spit in stout-littered kisses, how you pulled off his clothes like the vulture to a corpse. the way your body moved against his was the nicotine you'd smoke on long nights. it was sickening, at first, how much control that you revelled in, the way that his name had found its place under your tongue. the way that he grabbed at the bone in your hips, worshipping, devotee. taken to his body like addict to a drug, the dissociation between you heart and the fat-filled mounds on your chest washed out by lust. he makes it feel like the ache was never there, that you could scream with the voice that had been trapped beneath high-strung vocal cords, unfortunate biology. and you let yourself beg to god; why, oh god why, why were you given a body at the cost of your life?

but now, navigating through some twisted buildings under the cover of night, clearing rooms in the hotel, you know that you're changed. the revelation behind the woman beneath price's sheets all those years ago, who'd stolen your skin and your eyes and your face- it could cost you your life, could have you shunned and dying like a dog on the streets. and yet, you still hold a weary head up and dream about-

Johnathan price. he still festered in your ribcage, face slipped away into the back of your skull, the bug you'd yet to squish as you drive military blade into an enemy's neck and muffle their mouth through dying thrashes. He nods, gruff sound muted behind mutton chops, murmuring an audible 'clear' through the fizzle of comms. And you let yourself wonder, if maybe those prismarine eyes can find yourself in the body now known as home. (He swears that your smile matches the woman he'd fell for through sparring matches and facebook posts. that old face he'd barely managed to blot out with cigars and whiskey and downed with bourbon and-) your team proceeds down the hallways,

‘all stations on right wing, target four is down. I repeat, target four is down. zero KIA.’ and your mouth quirks up a little. ‘deems that Ghost’s aim still doesn’t fail,” you muse. His eyebrow raises- only slightly- at the tense of your words. still.

“certainly doesn’t,” and you want to drink the strain in his voice until its ache is gone.

another few minutes of clearing the building. the repetitions of breaking open the same doors with the same crowbars, gun peeking through the side of the frame. So similar, practiced in recon and real-world situations, yet never being comfortable, safe. it’s almost automatic at this point, reducing your phycology to nothing more than the gun that you wield- deciding, acting. but looking over at price- the look in his eyes know’s you’d been injured. Bubbling fire deep in your marrow, fear bittering the air around you; foul, unappetising, yet it feels the captain wants to swallow you whole.

-

and now it rips through you- feels like your insides are pouring out, scrap of kidney and intestine pooling out at the starburst entry point. some pained shriek ripped out of your throat. at one point, you waited next to the doorframe of a room, (sixty-four left wing, is it?) and the next, some enemy operator had opened a hole in your stomach.

whatever moment between that is an animated blur, dismal and discoloured where sound pools in your ears instead of song. a captain- your captain, tackling the man to the ground in a double-leg-takedown, throwing down the gun at their side, the high wail of shots fired ringing into your ear while a teammate -the milky white patch on her face makes you assume it might be nova- drags you behind the wall as cover, your teammates taking position to cover for price, but also rip through the inhabitants of the room. and for the first time in the mission, you let fear curdle in your throat alongside the blood clinging to it’s walls, drip into your bloodstream and bury itself into bone. cant tell if the shadow hazing your thoughts is the predecessor death or subdued panic finally breaking though it’s confines . and you find it bitter, stupid, wholly in your heart, that even as your stomach spills onto the floor of a home that wasn’t yours, that part of your brain still festers. a possibility that the only man who could make your heart beat- john price, and his affair with the woman who’d stolen your soul and locked it behind flesh. Letting out some bitter laugh, feeling blood trace your lips whilst some stray bullet manages to hit the skull of an enemy, heard by the ungodly gurgle and tear of bullet through flesh, confirmed by the hum of your comms. “target two on left wing down, one broken-” price, now next to you, lets hard eyes settle against your form, dying star. “-seems to need medic.” another voice fizzles to life on the radio- laswell’s, you presume. “team delta, split to d1-d2. d1 continue to clear left wing, d2 head to rendezvous point.”

you can only really groan, blood bubbling to your throat when price hauls you to face his side, hissing out some curse as you hold shaky hand to where the blood seems to be leaking from. “easy there soilder-“ john grunts, wrenching your hand out of the way with a firm grip- a bear gripping her cub the scruff of it’s neck, holding it so tenderly between her teeth. one of your other teammates- cant identify them, head too filled up with adrenaline filled cloud and the haze to blood loss to register their shape- seems to toss over a roll of bandages. and if you had breath left, you would have barked out some half-assed remark about how strategically awful it was to tear off the gear and pull off the shirt of your uniform, but the nerves of the paled scars below your chest being revealed to cold air had your mouth shut, jaws locked, like wired muzzle to a dog. trying not to choke on the blood and jerk away when his eyes meet the placement of the wound.

it's diasporic, shaped like a dying star above you tattoo you’d had engraved deep into your dermis all those years ago. the 141’s old symbol- jagged sword without the skull, olive branches extending through its frame. a part of you far more distinctive, more tolerable to remember than thought of the girl who had decided to have it etched into her skin. And now your captain can see both of those on you- in you- and shamefully, you let lurid fear bite into you, thoughts snapping with teeth, breaking down the glass bars that composed the cage you made. Price may never kiss that tattoo again during the long nights, now look at the memories you’d made with a lens tinted by hatred. “nice to put a name to the face,”

he murmurs, wrapping the bandage to compress the wound, once, twice, thrice around your waist. Hauls your arm around his shoulder and begins the trek to the rendezvous point. one arm was pressed just above where he knew your tattoo rested, no mind to whatever blood trickles in the cracks of his fingers. “ill see you back at burningham, love,” its like your submerged in water now, eyes blurry with seawater and ears deafened by the tide filling their crevices. with the last of your energy, you tug yourself towards price, fingers tangled in his, doubling over and feeling the bandages settle under the layer of fat and muscle on your ribs. letting yourself dream of him for what seems to be your last time, fingers tangled together, pretending that your gasps for air were nothing more than laughter echoes against crashing waves on british shores, letting fresh saltwater air tangle you hair and travel your windpipe.

by the time the captain scoops you up, you’re far too deep in oceanwater, back against rocky seafloor. “stand strong, soldier,” and even through his gruff voice, you still notice the way it almost begs, song of prayer tucked away deep in his voicebox . some words he had hidden. price pulls you closer with his arm, fingers clawed and desperate, and the world crashes against you all at once.

[r0cket-qu3en]

Morning After

tommy lee one shot <3

warnings: mention of drugs, smoking, mention of alcohol, fluff

prompt: reader cheats on her boyfriend with Tommy after drinking togheter, the morning later she looks for her shirt so that she can leave, but she finds something else.

He looked at her with a wicked little smile, while she pulled up her low-waisted pants, which showed off her tanned stomach. He pushed himself up on his forearms and looked her up and down, bit his lip and tilted his head to the side, looking her over carefully.

He reached out with a muscular, tattooed arm and grabbed a pack of Marlboros from the side of the nightstand, taking a cigarette from the box and started to grab the red lighter next to the crumpled, half-rusty paper pack. The cigarette between his pink lips already gave him a sense of pleasure, as if he had already lit it. The snap of the lighter being lit made the girl turn, as if the noise had disturbed the thoughts that were wandering in her head.

"Scared?" He asked, taking the cigarette between his fingers, so he could articulate his words well and show her his confident, arrogant little smile. He wanted to show her how attractive he was. She stopped and looked at him. She was pacing around the room in a bra and cheap jeans she had bought in Indiana that spring, looking for something.

"No." She said seriously and went back to searching nervously, trying to leave the room as soon as possible. He lit the cigarette and closed his eyes, while the taste of tobacco filled his brain with pleasure and calm, almost to the point of fogging it. He inhaled, savored the sensation of nicotine and then slowly let the smoke slip out of his mouth, trying to slow down the moment and make it last as long as possible. The smoke dissolved into the air, invisible, but the heavy smell made the atmosphere suffocating, at least for her, who was starting to feel out of breath.

"What are you looking for, honey?" he asked her, while his provocative smile took on an air more amused than attractive. "Nothing." She said, absentmindedly, while moving everything she found at hand: shirts, sheet music, song lyrics, bottles of vodka and some cocaine hidden in the most remote corners.

"Tell me what you're looking for, maybe I can help you." He spoke to her in a soft and reassuring voice, she found herself on the verge of vomiting from the guilt of the boy's kind and sincere tone.

"My shirt." She gave in, hoping that he would find it and that she could finally leave that room, maybe along with it the feeling of dirtiness that was becoming more and more frequent. It was a strange feeling, that certainly didn't belong to the good girl she was, the street changes people, I guess. He looked around, then lifted the white and messy sheets, looking for the shirt of the girl in front of him.

She looked at him nervously, she seemed uncomfortable, she didn't want to continue looking at the boy's naked chest sitting in the double bed, still warm and clean, perfect for spending the morning in bed, together. She kept looking, and so did he, still sitting comfortably on the bed.

"You look good, without your shirt, I mean... I mean, you look good with your shirt on, but you know..." He started babbling. It happened to him every time he talked to a girl he liked: he'd babbling and stammering compliments.

"Just look for my shirt, please." She begged him and he started looking again.

He found more than he could have imagined among the sheets: used condoms, some coke leftovers and condom wrappers. He felt a slight urge to vomit as he looked at the dirty scraps.

She was looking in a wooden cabinet with a couple of drawers. The cabinet was a mess too. There were chopsticks, magazines, letters, photos... The photos were mostly of Tommy as a child with his family and most of the letters were addressed to David Lee Thomas Bass and Vassiki Papadimitriou or from them. They were yellowish and smelled like books. Some were in better condition than others, but Tommy seemed to care about every single one of them.

As she was moving sweaty shirts and wands full of signatures, something fell at her feet. Something small, because it didn't make much noise. The thought of the shirt left her mind for a moment and she looked down at the small object that had fallen.

She bent down to pick it up and put it back in its place, if she had one, but as soon as she picked it up she noticed how out of place the object was in that messy and dirty room. It looked like it had ended up there by accident, like someone had lost it in Tommy's room and now he had it. It gave her the idea of something priceless, even if it probably wasn't.

It was a small black velvety box, the surface was so soft to the touch that she rubbed her thumb a couple of times over it before opening it. Inside was a ring. A small silver ring, thin and shiny. She looked at it, motionless, for a few seconds.

"Found your shirt" He said, out of nowhere, getting up from the bed and standing behind her, looking at the open box in her hands.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend." She muttered, feeling worse. Her eyes lowered to the ring that shone under her eyes.

"A girl you want to marry." She added, clutching the box.

"She's not my girlfriend, not yet anyway." He said, resting his chin on her shoulder and caressing her hips. "It was for you, anyway." He finished.

[judasgot-it]

It's Love, That's It

Scenario: You wake up to a nicotine patch on you. But you don't smoke? (bad description but like)

There was something special about your boyfriend. You couldn't place your finger on it, but something about him had kept you addicted.

It wasn't his looks. He wasn't ugly, but his face wasn't on the top of the charts, definitly not on the cover of a magazine. Not his smell either, since laying next to him right now, you could smell the oils coming from his unwashed hair that had leaked through onto his pillows.

His frame was small as well - skinny, with sharp edges that dug into your sides as you currently held onto him. He rather short for a man as well, although it never really bothered you.

Nothing about him bothered you, actually. It probably should have - his bad breath in the mornings, the way his skin was always cold, how his personality was so cold. But for some reason, every night when you fell asleep by his side, you found yourself alieved to be laying next to him.

Sometimes, you would be mad - almost angry, because it had been days without Fyodor. It was like you were addicted to his presence, when he hadn't done anything at all. Just be there in the same cramped apartment as always, with his six monitors and work on the same projects he always was.

“Have you ever thought it might be love that makes you feel that way?“

His words rang around your head, the way his cold purple eyes simply stared at you - as if they saw right through your neediness in that moment. You would come home from work, seeing him home from whereever his job was - and just beg to be held in his arms.

For some reason, his arms had become a sort of cure all for you - when you felt like crying, it would almost calm you down instantly.

It was insane. You were never like this before.

No relationship you had before was like this.

You shifted on the bed, pulling the blanket higher over Fyodor's shoulders. He was so skinny, you could see his spine sticking through his thin white shirt. It likely did little to stop the AC of your apartment, doing wonders for his anemic body.

Pulling him closer, you felt a sharp pain on your hip. That was weird.

You moved slowly this time, feeling as something was stuck to your skin. Did you have a stain on the blanket and not realize?

Slowly you pulled, feeling as the blanket realsed itself - leaving something still sticky, and rather painful against your skin.

A sticker?

Tracing it over with your fingers, you could feel a rectangular outline along your skin, with a small tab breaking the seal. Picking against it, you could feel how strong the seal was - it was strong, which was odd.

What kind of sticker was this? Did Fyodor order something?

Slowly you got up out of bed, careful not to wake up your boyfriend - he wasn't one to rest well through the night, so disturbing his sleep always felt like a taboo. You weren't one to wake up easily, so this was a rare occasion anyway.

But this was simply strange.

Giving your eyes a moment to adjust to the bathroom light, you let your eyes adjust to the shitty flurescent lights. Squinting, you peeled your shirt back, finding where the sticker was on your body once again.

It wasn't a sticker. A normal one, at least. It was a square - plain, almost bandaid like. But you could feel how there was no cut, and it lacked the cotton to be a proper bandage.

This was something else.

Ripping it off, you winced but ignored the sting of pain that came. You forced your eyes to focus quickly, staring at the patch pinched between your fingertips. It had faint writing on top - 21 mg. Nicotine.

It took a moment for you to process it. A fucking a nicotine patch. Why was this on your skin? You weren't a smoker, and you knew Fyodor would die if he even smelt cigerettes.

You didn't even know where to buy these.

Should you wake up Fyodor? He could definitly figure this out.

It was just so...bizarre.

Tell me if you want a part 2 where Fyodor gaslights the fuck out of you and idk maybe exposes himself for fucking a dude but dw its not gay its just a part of his master plan (100% it's Nikolai)

[nymph-ette111]

hiiiiiii!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) could you do a simon cof x sweet, feminine reader headcannons? made my own headcannons to share with you because ily and i love this prompt(⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

♡ i imagine reader and simon would go out, hes wearing the same crusty ass grey hoodie while shes dressed up all cute and pretty >.<

♡ he reeks of nicotine while she smells like neapolitan marshmallows<3 hes obsessed with her scent. he literally loves using her bodycare/haircare products over his 3 in 1 men shampoo (if he even showers that is) because he'd smell more like her.

♡ she shares absolutely everything of her purchases. she'd do little mini hauls to Simon, showcasing her new pink ballerina flats, sugarbunnies plushie she had to fight a war for in mercari, too faced chocolate bar palette, cute japanese stationary, and a lot of new clothes. Simon loves it. he loves seeing her happy. (may even buy her things he thinks she would love if he didn't have a smoking addiction<3)

♡ she doesnt only share that though she also loves talking his ears off about anything and everything<3 at first he was annoyed with her constant talking but when he spoke of it, she stopped talking so much and he got guilty and missed her overtalking. he tried to bring her spark back in talking and it worked

♡ shes compassionate and kind, understanding his struggles (but not condoning his actions) and helping him to get better. (he really wants to be saved by her but feels that he just cannot.)

♡ he really doesn't get why she's with him. Hes depressed, miserable, and difficult to be with. His low self esteem sometimes gets the best of him and he starts believing that he's not worthy of her, often leaving her on read, missing her calls, and ignoring her. (im sensing attachment issues) reader clutches w communication though :3

♡ they'd explore abandoned buildings. Simon's there to smoke blunts while readers there to get awesome fit pictures<3 they would go a long way travelling and reader the most practical girl you know has her feet hurt from walking on platforms. they either take lots of breaks or Simon just carries her on his back (unlikely)

♡ talk about taking fit pictures, Simon's technically her photographer. She has a blog where she posts fashion and besides the mirror pics, Simon's always the one taking the pictures. He's quite good at it too.

some of these headcannons probably won't work in his time but who cares(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ) hope this prompt isnt that hard to write for..(⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)you can always ignore if you want!! thankkkkkk you x3 xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxxooxoxoxox

WARNINGS; MENTIONS OF SMOKING, MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION

AUTHOR'S NOTE; WHOEVER REQUESTED THIS JUST KNOW I LOVE YOU!!! probably inaccurate for both the character and the timeline... listen, I don't know what swedish people were up to in 2012 leave me alone. also not very happy with this, still trying to figure out how to write Simon :3

-he looks comically out of place in your room. just imagine a pastel pink room filled to the brim with cute plushies, shelves full of little trinkets and books, floral bedding and lace curtains. a wall full of movie posters, magazine pages, and little polaroids of your most treasured moments, and then there's a depressed smoke addict.

-you know those videos where it's a boyfriend sleeping in their girlfriend's girly room with a bunch of plushies on top of him? yeah, basically same situation.

-his sleep schedule is fucked up. either he pulls an all nighter or is passed out till 3 pm. when it's one of those times where Simon feels tired, you just let him sleep in your bed whilst you do whatever.

-it's also a great opportunity to gather the perfect pictures for black mailing.

-he just looks so stupid in your room I love him.

-doesn't care about your plushies but will learn to treat them nicely after you yelled at him for 15 minutes straight about how it's unacceptable to throw rilakkuma off the bed just so he could sit down.

-punches the plush when you aren't looking.

-he definitely gives you that pink hello kitty hoodie to wear. or he wears it instead so you two could match. that's probably your idea and he obliges because it's something you love and enjoy.

-really like the idea of him being your personal photographer. he's always the first to leave a like on whatever you post, especially if it's he who took the picture.

-doesn't know anyone besides you. his followings on social media just contain a bunch of his favorite bands and your account.

-a bit sad but I can see him borrowing your money (with permission) to buy cigarettes if his mother refuses to give him any. he wants to buy you stuff you might like but he's too busy spending it on his addiction :(

-he instead draws you your favorite characters so you can put it on the wall alongside your other pictures.

-has never been in the vicinity of a woman without being an awkward shit. moral of the story he doesn't know anything about girls. his knowledge of things is pretty vague, so please don't be surprised if you see him just poking around your vanity and asking a million different questions on what certain products do and why.

-his mother is very happy her son finally found a girlfriend. she approves of you and thinks you're an absolute sweetheart. always asks Simon when you will visit them again.

-you two definitely earn a few stares in public because how did such a sweet and pretty girl end up with a guy like Simon.

-it pisses him off endlessly but can't help his thoughts and feelings. thinks he doesn't deserve you or any of the kind shit you do for him.

-like nonnie said, he probably isn't the greatest boyfriend... there are times where he cancels your hang-outs without further explanation or simply doesn't acknowledge any of your calls and messages. he feels pretty shitty after it and apologizes for his behavior. you forgive him even though you both know he'll do it again.

-he is low-key obsessed with your smell, he smothers anything you have in the shower all over his body without caring what it's for, just simply reads the labels and puts it on... with big amounts. this man is making you go bankrupt. you could literally see the outline of his fingers left in the product..

-his camera is full of pictures of you, he likes looking at them when he feels down. which is pretty often.

-shows you all of his favorite places in Stockholm or even Kirkvile (where does this man live I don't get it) ones that aren't usually full of people, just overly adventurous teenagers from time to time. something tells you that you two have trespassed into private property multiple times but Simon doesn't want to answer that question clearly.

-ugh imagine clipping cute little hair clips into Simon's hair and he just lets you do whatever you want because if you're happy then he is happy and he wants to see you smile :(

-in exchange, you let him do corpse paint on your face.

[iamcautiouslyoptimistic]

🦅Russell Adler Headcanons

{Author's Note} Since I'm literally obsessed with this man, I thought I'd post my headcanons for him. All of these are based off of his canon backstory and character with bits of my own speculation thrown in so nothing should be too out of left field here. I may end up posting more of my thoughts on him soon so we shall see. Hope y'all like it and I'd love to hear what you think, as well as any headcanons you guys might have! Tagging @littlemissclandestine for this since she's an Adler fan. Let me know if I did this man justice lol🤭

‼️Content Warning: swearing, suggestive themes‼️

~ ~ ~

-Badass asshole

-Takes awhile for him to soften enough to really love someone

-Flirtatious jerk when he has a crush

-Shows he cares through small actions that can be hard to notice, as well as vague, rather backhanded compliments

-Shamelessly stares from behind those glasses of his

-Thinks it’s really cute when you wear his shades but would never admit it

-Stylish with heavy 70s influence

-Probably modeled for a male fashion magazine at some point LMAO

-Definitely knows how to dance

-Seems like the type to meme a bit on British people (specifically Park lol)

-Very sarcastic, sometimes to the point that you don’t realize he’s actually joking because he's always so monotone

-Secretly loves Belgian waffles (this is a reference to that one Bruce Thomas TikTok lol)

-Has a soft spot for the Beach Boys (I mean, look at that 🎶bushy, bushy blonde hairdo🎶 of his)

-Since so many people have asked and teased him about it (I see y'all in the fandom and I will not accept this slander lol) -> his hair isn’t fake, it’s actually pretty soft, very bouncy, he likes styling it

-Very particular about his appearance as it is one of the few things that he can truly control

-Prefers cats over dogs

-Can get obsessive about certain things and lose himself to them (i.e. his search for Perseus) -> Mason quote: “He spent so long searching for Perseus, he didn’t notice when he lost himself.”

-Still struggles with PTSD from his time in Vietnam, which, alongside his obsession with finding Perseus, is what led to his divorce

-Carries a lot of guilt and regret that he doesn’t like to acknowledge

-Started smoking to cope with the trauma of war, now has a nicotine addiction; when he’s really stressed, he chain smokes like a chimney

-Gets restless if he doesn’t have a cigarette

-Doesn’t sleep well and when he does, he usually wakes up every few hours

-Scars - Shrapnel? Abuse? Torture? Animal attack? No one knows and he’ll never tell

-Kiss or trace those scars and he WILL melt

-Difficult for him to let his guard down

-Has a tendency to isolate himself -> Mason quote: "You were never alone, Adler. Only in your own stubborn head."

-Always wearing those damn glasses cuz STYLE but also to hide his eyes to remain as a sort of blank, emotionless slate to other people

-Absent parents who never showed him real love or support as he grew up so he struggles to do the same for others -> they were the reason he joined the army as soon as he turned 18

-When it comes to cuddling, he loves holding you against his chest and running his fingers along your arm, cheek, or through your hair; small but intimate actions like that are his favorite

-Doesn’t like to show emotions at all, even during more intimate moments; he needs some coaxing to relax in that way, which takes time

NSFW Below👇🏻 (it's really not too bad tho)

-Sit on his lap👀

-Will pin your wrists during the sexy times🫣

-EDGING & OVERSTIMULATION

-After his divorce, he's tended to view sex as more of a transaction where both parties are fulfilling needs for each other so he'd be selfish at first but as your relationship progresses, he'd become far more generous

[lalunanymph]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐆𝐎

↳ a foul-mouthed, aggressive, pro-soccer player on the verge of being disqualified from the biggest game of his life, is tossed into a fake relationship with a spoiled heiress to salvage their bad public reputation. what exactly could go wrong?

𖨆♡𖨆 itoshi rin x fem!reader

cw. mentions of alcohol, angst, mentions of death, mentions of cheating, violence, blood, mentions of medication, arguments, shidou being a menace, language, internet bullying

masterlist | playlist

#5: VANISH

Milan was a beauty which deserved every single praise from travellers and magazines around the world.

Your little upclass boutique hotel overlooked the city centre, and the wind tugged on your sleeping shirt like a child demanding for attention. Sitting on the cool bench, you bundled your knees closer to your chest, stretching the well-worn Blue Lock jersey down your thighs as you sighed, lifting a cigarette to your lips. 

If Rin were here, he would look on disapprovingly at this bad habit.

His name ignited a fissuring ache somewhere under your left rib where your tender heart still pulsed; your lips pursed around the cigarette, and you exhaled softly.  

I need to forget about him.

Flickering your vintage metal lighter open, the tip of your white stick smouldered and you breathed in the first cloud of nicotine; expelling it out into the autumn air. Your favourite season was far prettier in a city as vibrant as this. 

Below your feet, leaves turned orange, scattering down onto the grey pavement where boots and heels crushed them with a satisfying crunch. A flock of birds darted overhead in a V formation leaving you appreciative of the  simple pleasures of such a beautiful morning.

Today, you had to visit your designers to make sure the changes on your line were reflected as per your last review yesterday. 

You had worked till late last night, never mind the jet lag and your swollen eyes from crying on the plane left your face puffy and heart even more exhausted than when you sought refuge in the arms of another location. 

Far away from Tokyo. 

Far away from him. 

You didn’t know why you bothered in the first place—Rin would not search for you. He had made it abundantly clear what he thought of you, and subsequently, how he wanted nothing to do with you.

Such childish fancies. You sighed, deciding to put Itoshi Rin out of your mind the moment you stub out your dying cigarette in the metal ashtray. 

Your designers welcomed you warmly when you entered the atelier, and you smiled at them, glad that you had this little secret project to buoy you through such intense sadness. 

Soon, you forgot about Rin’s harsh words. His radio silence for the whole three days when you lingered in Tokyo like an idiot, waiting for him—waiting for an apology which never came. If there was a cure for a broken heart, it would be laughter flitting in between tulle skirts, your sketches coming to life and good pasta for dinner.

However, once the darkness came, the empty cavity shaped like him in your chest started to throb again, rendering your earlier efforts useless. 

Heartache was not linear, and neither was grief. 

You were intimately knowledgeable of such a fact. Shifting through your wallet to find your mother’s picture, you sat outside the balcony again, inhaling deeply. Milan’s lights twinkled through your tears and you bubbled a sad laugh, trying to swallow around the lump in your throat and speak through your misery. 

“I’m here, oka-san,” you managed to mumble, tracing the edge of the age-worn square with your thumb. “I wish you could see my first show.” Sighing, you cast your watery gaze towards the beautiful city beyond, hiccuping a sob. “I wish you were h-here, oka-san. I want to ask you so many questions. I’m so confused.” 

All a girl wants is her mother when she’s heartbroken. And in this instance, you would’ve given the world to feel her embrace around you; to shield you from the hurt and tell you everything was going to be okay.

Sniffling, you pocketed her photo back into your wallet and decided to visit the bar down the street. It was barely filled with people, and looked like the perfect spot for you to chase your worries down a bottle of wine. 

Thankfully, no one in Milan knew who you were; your reputation in Japan was left behind, and you were allowed to shed the heavy cloak of hypercritical fans so you could wallow in your sadness for the night. You ordered two glasses of red wine, sipping it slowly while the noises of the city disappeared behind you. In Milan, you felt safer to indulge in the intoxication you were often criticised for back in your country, and you did not pay any mind to the people around you.

If you did, you would’ve noticed his teal green eyes studying from across the room; the long under lashes casting shadows onto his chiselled cheekbones as he quietly drank from his glass of whiskey. 

You would have anticipated his heavy footsteps, the easy way he settled into the empty bar stool next to you.

“Rough night?” 

Snapping your attention back from the edge of staring off into space, you focused your gaze on a man who looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly where you had met him. Your sluggishness dissipated when you registered a pair of heartachingly indistinguishable teal eyes on a face more mature than the one you loved. His name was poised on the tip of your tongue, melting into your consciousness like precarious drops of rain. 

Itoshi Sae, right in the flesh.

You gaped at him, and Sae smirked—all arrogance and ego dripping down the corners of his lips right to his muscular build. He was a few inches shorter than Rin, but something about his presence demanded an undeniable majesty; he walked like how he owned the field, judging from your quick snatches of Rin’s frequent gameplay studies regarding his brother. 

Confident. Sure.

He captivated your attention the second he saw recognition flash through your eyes.

“Ah. So, you do know me.” He slunk slightly back in a casual show of masculine conviction, throwing a lazy hand up to order another glass of whiskey which the bartender quickly set down before him; like a King making demands of his court. Sae sipped on the amber liquid, his teal eyes never leaving your face. You shifted back straighter, clutching your purse in a tight grip.

“Itoshi Sae.” His name hummed in your mouth like something forbidden. “What’re you doing here?”

He tilted his head forward, whiskey-soaked lips carved into another smirk. “I have a game soon. Didn’t my dear little brother tell you it’s almost World Cup Season?”

As if on cue, your phone chimed with a Blue Lock update, and his eyes were quick to read off your dim screen. 

Representing Japan, the Blue Lock 11 will make their first ferocious move in France. Catch us on JSN for more updates!

Sae’s carefully constructed expression was neutral, and he hummed. “It’s a little rude of me to not have extended my congratulations on dating my brother, but I hope it’s not too late.”

He was quick to catalogue the minute fall of your expression, the darkness misting over your eyes.

“Oh. Um. Thank you.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly too aware of how short your dress was. You did not want to give Rin’s brother any idea of your vulnerable state; the walls around your heart firing up towards the sky, keeping your defences manning the perimeter for any signs of a breach from this callous, stone-faced man.

Sae tilted his head forward, and he didn’t have to be a therapist to know how inexplicably terrified you were of him.

“Rin’s poisoned your thoughts against me, hasn’t he?” 

The sound of his little brother’s name uttered between the both of you, shocked him as much as it did for you. 

A short laugh fell from your lips, and you shook your head. “I’m sorry, Sae-san. Rin never really mentioned you a lot back home. I was just taken aback because I didn’t expect you to be here.” Bowing your head forward slightly, you murmured, “I’m sorry for giving you the wrong impression.”

Sae clicked his tongue, and something in his teal eyes had gone hyperborean from your small admittance. Your frayed nerves were at its tether when he leaned forward—close enough for you to smell his clean cologne from his collar. 

“Liar,” Sae murmured, flitting his eyes to your lips, his heavy lashes framing his eyes perfectly. It sent a stab of pain straight to your heart from how familiar those eyes were. “I know Rin told you to never say my name, didn’t he? You don’t have to play dumb, Y/N-chan. I’m your friend here.”

His expression did a 180, and he smirked again, leaning away to give you back your breathing space.

“Truly, I don’t know what you see in him,” Sae snorted and your furrowed brows gave him fuel to elaborate. “Rin. He’s such a sour little brat. I can’t believe you willingly dated him.”

The slight twitch of your lips, and the quickness in how you darted your eyes to the side, spoke volumes. Sae was close enough to unravel this mystery within his short time frame with you, and he was determined to find his brother’s weak spot; needing to understand if this girl in front of him was Rin’s Achilles heel.

His intentions were dirty and foul, but his coach was desperate for a quick win against Japan. Sae’s defection to the European superpower team would be seen as a betrayal for his home country, but no one could fault him. Japanese soccer was abysmal, and he would much rather sow his seeds on much verdant and fecund lands than the ones which he came from.

“He’s nice,” you mumbled defensively, picking up your wine glass by its delicate stem and taking one irritated sip. 

Sae scoffed under his breath. The both of you knew it was a lie.

“I heard a rumour that the both of you were thrown into a fake relationship because of bad press.” 

Your stunned silence did not need to be translated into words. Sae heard your confession loud and clear.

“Ah. That is sad. It must’ve been hard to be with Rin, huh. Let me guess—” Sae sat back, and like a master puppeteer, he pulled your strings tautly till you could not breathe; predicting every play of your relationship with Rin like he was reading from a script.

“He started getting closer to you, making you fall in love with him, and then when the going got tough, he lashed out, didn’t he? Told you that you were worthless and to get the hell away from him. Then, he didn’t come back home. He left you worried and all alone. He suffocated you with his silent treatment until you felt like escaping was the only route you could take, and now you’re here—heartbroken over a man who doesn’t give two shits.”

Sae watched intently as devastation imploded across your pretty features. Your lower lip wobbled uncontrollably, and you sniffled, turning your eyes back to your wine glass. Every fibre in your body was raging at you to run, but you remained rooted in one spot, unable to move. Caught in the headlights like a deer about to be run down by a freight truck. 

His warm palm on your back made you flinch, but Sae did not intend to hurt you. He was slowly patting the tight spot between your shoulders, rubbing reassuring circles to loosen your stiff muscles. A master at pushing and pulling, leaving his victims torn both ways. 

The wine left you slow and sluggish; your defences crumbling until your face met his sturdy chest and he was holding you while you sobbed softly.

Despite his callous manner, Sae was not entirely made of stone. He didn’t know exactly why, but he liked to think you were a lot like his brother.

Young and impressionable. Easily bending to his will.

“Do you want to come back to my hotel?” Sae asked in a low, even voice. Every pore of your touch-starved body craved for a touch which echoed Rin’s—as feeble and farfetched as it was. But, your rational mind took over and you shook your head.

“I think I need to go back home,” you murmured, and as much as Sae wanted to see how much he could push you, he conceded.

“At least let me walk you back to your hotel,” he offered sincerely. After a beat of hesitation, you nodded.

Sae helped you to your feet, letting you hold onto his arm as you tottered in your heels.

“How the hell do you women walk in those?” he asked in a withered tone. Your answer was a short laugh and a shake of your head.

“Black magic,” you mumbled, a shadow of your old self arising from the ashes. Sae rolled his eyes, and put his hand on yours to keep you steady.

“Did you know we’ve met before?” 

You peeled your eyes from your swollen toes squished in your heels and fixed him with a questioning look. “Have we?” 

“The Silver Strikers conference,” Sae murmured. “I was one of the keynote interviewees and you were in the box above with your father.”

You recalled a man of his build with light brown hair and gasped. “Oh my gosh. Yes, we have met.”

Sae chuckled when you smacked his arm lightly. “Why didn’t you lead up with that instead? You made me think you were flirting with me.”

His answer was a snort. “Even if I was, would you have reciprocated?” The ball was back in your court, and he waited for you to make a move. Predictions running rampant in his mind.

He never expected your answer.

“To be honest, I’m done with you Itoshi men,” you muttered candidly, oblivious to Sae’s growing amusement. “If Rin is anything to go by, you two need help. Serious help.”

You were half-joking, and Sae picked up on your teasing. He was about to retort something snarky when you stumbled and he murmured a low whoa, holding on tightly to your waist. He let you lean into his embrace, and you shakily held onto him, your head thumping back intermittently on his sturdy chest with every trembling step you took. 

Any outsider would assume the both of you would be dating from how close you both were, but you suspected Sae was merely being nice.

In fact, he was overtly nice. A little too friendly.

Taking advantage of your sluggish movements, Sae looped your floppy arm around his neck and hoisted you into his solid embrace.

“Wh—whoa!” you gasped when the ground disappeared underneath your heels. A terrified giggle slipped past your gaping mouth, and you held onto him, yelping in fright from every jarring step he took. 

“You’re such a lightweight,” the older Itoshi murmured, and you didn’t have to look into his expression to know he was rolling his eyes. A reaction you were intimately acquainted with as being extremely Rin-like. 

“Wait—hey! Put me down!” This was the second time in your life an Itoshi brother was carrying you because you were too drunk to walk. The thought should’ve miffed you, but all it did was make you miss Rin even more.

You kept quiet when he effortlessly carried you towards the front of your hotel, and set you down with a soft grunt.

Somehow, you couldn't look into his eyes, and only when his fingers slid underneath your chin to hoist your face up to meet his teal eyes, did you find the courage to smile.

“T-Thank you, Sae-san for accompanying me back.” There was a beat of hesitation—a lingering sort of unrest where neither of you knew what else to say. You broke the tension first by bowing clumsily, missing his small smirk.

Sae tipped his head forward in acknowledgement, and turned on his heel. “I’ll see you around, Y/N-chan.” 

You barely echoed his wish when his broad back disappeared down the corner into the night. Like a mirage, he had reappeared and disappeared in a total span of fifteen confusing minutes. Inwardly shrugging, you decided to let Sae’s uncanny presence bury itself in the back of your mind and took one wobbling step forward. 

A few more days to go and you would be splashed on the front headlines of a tabloid for your debut fashion line. You wondered what the critics would say; how they would dissect your entire collection apart. The singular thought sent a stab of nausea through your churning stomach, and you tried to swallow down your trepidation. 

It was too late to think of what-ifs. You had a future ahead of you to look forward to. You couldn’t let yourself be held back by naysayers and those who never wanted to see you grow. 

The courage you kept under wraps for years while you pandered to everyone’s impression of a perfect, soccer heiress started to glow brightly; an unmistakable flare lighting the cavity of your soul.

A wayward seed was planted in the fertile hopes of your invigorated determination, and you took one more confident step forward, the sound of your heels on the pavement steady and sure—miniature applauses which spurred you on forward and out of your slump.

You would wade through whatever hell or high waters the future might throw at you, and you would do it all with a smile.

Despite every nerve in Rin’s body telling him not to react—not to scroll further down this rabbit hole of spiralling thoughts and painful incredulity—Rin continued to read the article.

There was a soundbite from Sae, and he realised this photo was taken a few days ago in Milan. 

His heart leapt from his ribcage to collide painfully against the wad of spit he swallowed, the interview text burned into his retinas, shadowing behind his closed lids.

When asked about his relationship with you, Sae’s soundbite didn’t give much information. His reps reassured that the midfielder “saw her as a friend”’ and was much more, “interested in the playoffs than with his brother’s ex-girlfriend.”

His phone rang and Ego’s name flashed on screen. Rin denied the call and sank back into the sofa, scrubbing a hand down his face.

What the actual fuck.

His phone beeped again, and despite the early hours—the darkness blanketing the city and his stinging eyes—he read every article that Nagi and Reo sent into the group chat. 

His family group was in chaos, too, judging from a whiny cousin on his mother’s side who offered sympathy in a thinly-veiled attempt to mock him whenever the opportunity arose. He shut them out; he shut everyone out and switched off his phone, tossing it harshly onto the glass coffee table where the device clattered noisily right towards the edge.

Rin closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. His mind was boiled down to a stew of cacophonous thoughts, nothing standing out corporeally to get him to focus on a singular strand. Nothing beyond your face, happily smiling at his brother. Ropes of his muscles tenderly holding your smaller frame close to his chest. 

The look of contentment on both your faces.

Saw her as a friend.

Rin shot up to his feet, seething angrily at Sae’s stupidity. Just a friend? A woman like you deserved more than that. You deserved a gentle love which did not discard you in the limelight and left you reeling in ambiguity. You deserved to be loved out loud, right towards the heavens and on top of someone’s lungs.

You deserved to be loved by him. 

Rin felt his breath and common sense physically knock out his body. 

The calendar imprinted in his mind told him it was 3 days till his match in France, and he had to leave for the airport tomorrow to make it to the World Cup Village. Ego had scheduled them for a pre-interview with BBC, and they could not miss such a momentous occasion to bring more attention to Japan’s soccer scene.  That shitty four-eyes could not bear having his number one striker gone from the mix.

As one of the only players who could speak fluent English, Rin was needed to translate interview questions for his teammates, a task he found little pleasure in. However, in this instance, he couldn’t be bothered in the least. Isagi can handle it. Rin brusquely picked up his things, already booking a one-way business trip to Milan. That motherfucker can string an English sentence together—let him play nice with the press. 

Isagi would understand; he would forgive him for ditching the team just this once. Granted they haven’t spoken since Rin broke his nose during practice, but Yoichi was a mild guy in the face of animosities. 

Rin would make sure to hand him a few of his passes on the field to make up for his abysmal behaviour.

But, first, he had a flight to catch and a woman to win back.

The pounding headache from the seventh declined call was starting to annoy you to no end.

Your publicist’s number flashed on screen again, and this time, you didn’t bother to press the huge red button on screen, letting it go to voicemail. Your open laptop on the table scrolled down on its own as more alerts hit the SNS pages; tweets, Instagram tags and emails pinging with your name in the Google Alert tab making your head hurt.

The backlash did not end there after your 2-day old exposed “relationship” with the elder Itoshi brother. 

Jealous girls of every age were sending you death threats on your profile, and one of them even drew your face in the middle of a summoning circle and crossed your eyes out with red paint.

Criticism was nothing new to you, but this was far too much. The chimes were getting on your nerves and you felt nauseous from how you had once again fucked up your public image.

Maybe it would be better if you retreated from the spotlight. You never had any intention of being famous. Your father had decided you were the face of the Silver Strikers one day and pushed you to become his organisation’s spokesperson when you much preferred focusing on fashion. 

Fame was secondary to your peace of mind, and with that thought, you closed every tab on your laptop and sank back into the luxurious leather couch, rubbing your temples. Soft lighting diffused across the atelier, a sense of peace which did not touch your soul floated in the air like dust motes, spinning and twisting like demented ballerinas. 

You sighed, and Damara, one of your Italian designers who worked closely with you to conceptualise the theme of this collection, came to check on you. “Miss Y/N? Is everything alright.”

You eyed the pretty, light-haired woman with a tired smile. “I’m fine. Just some rumours going around which I prefer not to engage in.” 

“Ah.” Damara shifted from one foot to another, unexpectedly candid. “Is this about those two brothers you are involved with?” 

Word does travel fast. You hadn’t expected to make it this quickly over foreign waters.

You decided to come clean and nod, too tired to hide behind any pretences. “Yes.” Tossing your phone onto the couch, you sighed again. “I used to date the younger one, but we broke up and didn’t tell our fans. So, when they saw me out with his older brother, they jumped to conclusions.” A wry smile played in the corners of your lips. “And now, I am a lightning rod for slut-shaming across Japan and even here.”

Damara winced at the defeatedness in your tone. “Don’t worry, Miss Y/N. We all know the truth here. You are a nice person and would never try to intentionally hurt your loved ones.”

“I appreciate the confidence,” you murmured and stood up, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pockets, going back to business. “Please make sure the models have their second fitting. I want them to outshine the Pinacoteca di Brera.” 

She nodded. “Of course, Miss Y/N. We will make the necessary checks and arrangements.”

Once it was sorted out, you trailed towards a nearby cafe, sitting down outside the al-fresco dining spot to nurse a cup of espresso. You barely had any sleep last night, nervous for the show later.

Outside in the bright sun, the tight knot in your chest loosened momentarily. No one in this tiny cafe was giving you a second glance, and for a moment, you were grateful for every shred of anonymity Milan offered you. This bright, pulsing city big enough to hide a woman from her country’s eyes was little like a mother’s arms holding you close, shielding you away from the world with gentle coos and caresses. 

You appreciated the verve of such a serendipitous moment, and tilted your head back, exhaling slowly.

“Y/N.”

The peace you felt in your soul shattered the moment you recognised his voice.

Peeling your eyes wide open, you hastily set your coffee cup back onto the marble table, gaping at the sight of your pretend lover’s brooding, downcasted expression, half-hidden behind his dark green bangs. Dark circles similar to yours shaded under his murky teal eyes. You wondered if the sleep deprivation had taken over and made you hallucinate his presence.

Rin approached you with his hands in his pockets, unaware of the storm he set off in your soul from the sight of his tall silhouette carving through the perfect sunshine of this unperturbed day. He was blissfully oblivious to how your soul screamed to run towards him, but your body stayed frozen, remembering his harsh words; his terrifying anger that led you to this country in the first place.

Your shoulders tightened towards your ears when he hovered close to you; near enough to touch, but far enough to keep you comfortable. A myriad of emotions fired off behind his muddled, bloodshot irises: fear, worry, hesitation, regret. Since when in this lifetime were you adept at reading Itoshi Rin’s reactions? 

It felt like you were going against a sacred creed. Like you were an anomaly within the laws of the universe who was not supposed to uncover such clandestine information. 

“How… how are you?” His earnesty was the second thing to render you mute. You blinked one too many times, as if trying to get rid of a spot of gunk stuck to your lashes. The silence stretched on, and you weren’t sure what to say.

Perhaps, if you had half a mind, you would ask him what he was doing here. Or, why did he come to see you when he had everywhere else in the world he could go. 

Why would he disturb your grieving process by coming back to life when you were resolutely trying to bury him within the sterile soil of your stained memories? 

Realising he was waiting for a response, you cleared your throat and slowly stood up. Rin was forced to take a step back from your sudden proximity, and another when your tight smile swam in his vision.

“I’m fine.” You didn’t ask him the same question, needing to leave before the irrational lump in your throat would threaten to make the sting in your eyes overflow. “I have somewhere to go. It’s nice to see a familiar face in Milan.” Please leave me alone.

You bowed to him even if you weren’t supposed to, and turned on your heel to walk away.

“Hey—” His touch on your wrist gave you a semblance of what it would be like to suffer from a heart attack; throwing off your composure for a split second before you recovered it and tugged your hand away from him. 

This time, the tightness around your mouth was exacerbated, like a lioness holding back a snarl in anticipation of striking a doltish prey. “It is nice to see you, Rin,” your voice coiled around the cadence of his name. “But, I am late.”

Those teal eyes swam with rueful trepidation from your sudden refrain of his touch and presence. “Y/N, I wanted to—”

“Please.” 

Rin was quietly startled to find tears glistening in your eyes. He reflexively took one step back, lips clamping tightly shut. What a sham of a game you two were playing—words unsaid and charades of repressed love shaded in between stark pockets of silence and the fear of being vulnerable. 

You didn’t want to play this game anymore.

“Don’t do this to me. Not now.” 

Your mumble set off his righteous anger, and he was about to call your name again, this time more forcefully to get you talking to him, when another presence joined the fray. 

“I think Y/N made it clear she’s not interested in a reconciliation.”

A voice materialised straight from his worst nightmares and hopeful dreams. Sae strolled down the pavement, tanned skin made warmer from his white dress shirt and thin silver chain gleaming from his clavicle. The sight of his older brother shocked Rin to an inert silence. He watched, wide eyed, as Sae walked up to you and leaned in close, the lines of his body language imprinted with intimacy.

“Go,” Sae murmured. “I’ll handle him.”

You didn’t know where to look or what to say. Around you, the cafe patrons sensed the tense atmosphere, and despite the language barrier, your teary eyes and the stiffness in both brother’s shoulders spoke of an impending altercation. The waiter who served you coffee hovered waveringly by your table, unsure if he had a right to butt in this spat.

Bowing your head forward, you started to walk away, oblivious to Rin’s devastated stare on the small of your back, or Sae’s cool, cruel gaze narrowing at the sight of his sibling. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” 

Fucking asshole piece of shit vomit brother. Rin’s glare turned hyperborean, and he cocked a brow right at the older man. Discarding the natural order of birth and hierarchy of respect, Rin chuckled sardonically right in his brother’s face. 

“You always did want whatever I had.” Something about Rin’s conviction and his steely tone took Sae completely by surprise. 

“You wanted my luck. My skill. You wanted to crush me and mould me into some kind of monster like you. Now, you want the person I love. You’re always going around thinking you’re some fucking god when we all know—everyone knows—how much better I am than you are.”

Pain exploded right in his temple, and Rin staggered back, hands flying to his face. Sae did not stop there. He slammed his entire fist into Rin’s stomach, and he went sprawling onto the floor, taking his older brother down with him. The scuffle roused a spectacle from the other patrons; some screamed, others cursed, and the sane ones called for the police. 

Rin had never wrestled hand to hand with Sae, but years of his pent-up anger and resentment flowed forward, changing his headspace into complete red. He snarled, slamming his fist into Sae’s jaw, and hearing something pop with satisfaction.

“... stop—Rin! Sae! Stop!” 

Sae snapped his head back, teal eyes wild with fury and clamped both hands around his little brother’s neck. Ready to suffocate him to death. 

You wrenched the older Itoshi off his brother with the help of the pale-faced waiter. Rin struggled to his knees, his acid-wash dark jeans speckled with white dust from the concrete pavement, and he bared his teeth, about to lunge at Sae again when your face appeared in his line of vision; blocking Sae’s ugly glare with your owlishly wide, terrified gaze.

“... stop… come on…” Your hands were on his cheeks, coaxing him to look at you instead of his brother. Through some miracle, the tension coiling like a snake which kept his figure locked in attack mode loosened, and he let you pull him to his feet.

Let you lead him out of the fray, only stopping to turn back and make sure Sae was okay. Shidou’s voice emerged from the din, deep and fraught with worry for his older brother’s face. Fucking annoying bug-like freak. The bastard he called his sibling would live; the most he would get was a busted lip. 

Rin’s right eye started to throb, and if it weren’t for your arms around his torso, he would’ve doubled back in the pretence to ask for some ice only to throttle Sae again. But because he was finally held by you, he didn’t want to lose out on this blissful opportunity, keeping quiet when you brought him back to your hotel room, all tense nerves and furrowed brows which he silently found adorable.

You sat him down on the velvet couch and rushed to your mini bar, pulling out some ice. Rin hated to admit how the familiar weight of your body settling next to his made his heart start to swoon. Or, how your touch was delicate despite your hand shaking with restrained anger, dabbing at his eye which would swell and blacken in a few hours.

“Idiot.” 

Rin snapped out of his thoughts and noticed your deepening frown. The courage he carried all the way from Tokyo with him to this foreign city withered under your blithe look, and he suddenly could not find his voice when you started to tersely speak.

“Our reputation is going to go to shit because of your temper,” you scorned gruffly. “Why did you even come here?” 

To the uninitiated, Itoshi Rin’s glare would be terrifying, but you were familiar with his souring moods, and fixed him with a matching grimace.

He mumbled something under his breath which vaguely sounded like I miss you, and you wished you hadn’t heard it. You wished he could unsay it so your stupid little hopes did not start to stir. But, you did, and your heart soared even as you desperately tried to pull it back down to reality.

This cannot go on. Rin was toxic and you had to cut him off less you lose a part of yourself to his blasé and callous nature. You had already been burned once, and you didn’t want to goad tragedy for a second time.

When he would not repeat what he had said, your hopes diminished, one flicker of light at a time until your chest was left darkened and hollow. The hand holding the ice pack to his face waned, and you set it down on the couch in between both your bodies; the space between was enough to remind you of two separated continents when in reality, only a few inches remained for your pinkies to touch. 

Between that space and silence, you let every unsaid word die in the back of your throat, and sighed, standing up. 

Without looking at him, you shuffled back to your ensuite room and fished for some painkillers in your handbag. No other words fell from your lips when you returned, pressing the aluminium strip into his hand and gesturing to the door.

“I did what I could for your eye, but I think you need to go to the doctor.”

Rin was staring at you from his perch on the sofa, expression agape and struggling to sift through the thoughts in his mind. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Words eluded him, and even if he had spilled his entire heart out to you, would you have cared? Would you have picked up the shattered pieces and tried in vain to glue it back? He was a selfish bastard—he knew that. But, he wished you would. He wished you could’ve been the one to save him when he didn’t even know what he needed saving from.

He slowly stood to his full height, towering over you with solemn teal eyes glimmering slightly in the light and a parted mouth as if he wished to caress you with his words. But, the truth was apparent from your averted eyes and crumpled figure like you were trying to hide within yourself. 

Any touch from him would be unwelcomed, and he hopelessly wished he was a silver tongue like Sae or had a grit of steel like Isagi. 

Maybe he would’ve salvaged this relationship if he could’ve just talked to you. 

Maybe he wouldn’t walk out of your space for the last time or watch your balcony door from a safe distance away in a nearby park, turning the strip of painkillers in his hand like they were prayer beads which would conjure your mercy and reconciliation onto him. 

Maybe his feet wouldn’t take him down the street, past the bent oak tree and towards another park where he bumped into a nasty face from his past.

“Aw, it’s tiny Rin. Lost your girlfriend, huh, Romeo?” Shidou’s pale red eyes glinted tauntingly. He almost crushed the medicine in his hand, forcing himself to loosen his grip and coolly gaze at the antennaed freak.

“Fuck off.”

“Ouch.”

Shidou pretended to wince and kiss his teeth. “Didn’t nii-chan teach you to be nicer to people, hmm?”

Rin swore that if it weren’t for the pulsing migraine on the right side of his temple, he would’ve taken a swing at the blonde freak. He was almost about to, but another voice halted his impulses.

“Rin.”

Sae was cooling off on a bench, holding a packet of ice to his jaw. His teal eyes, so much like his, bore right into his skull. 

Rin didn’t know what compelled him to open his mouth, or for those words to tumble freely from his loosened lips. He liked to think it was grief which compromised his unwavering pride for a split second. Or, the guilt for what he did and said to his brother when he exhaled—

“Teach me how to win her back.”

— feedback, rbs and support and fully appreciated !!

©️ all rights belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[thatmaxcontent]

East Blue Polycule, yeah? Let me headcanon-dump onto you, stranger who didn't ask for it!

They overall love one another equally (in their own unique ways), but they do have favorites (keep it a secret though 🤭🤫🫡).

Luffy doesn't favor anyone in particular, but he has the most fun with Usopp and the most 'emotional' (big quotes on that) times with Zoro.

Speaking of the Lettuce Demon, his favorite is obviously Luffy, I need not elaborate on this point. He was the first and he will be the last.

Sanji's favorites are Nami and Usopp, Nami in the more silly yet beloving sense. She'll often tease him for being such a simpy simp, but will happily give him some love every now and then. Usopp is constantly around, not just Sanji but the whole crew, and through that Nicotine Kicker kind of just got used to him being THE first one he'd go to (aside captainly stuff and such). They behave more like married folks who've been together for around 10 years most of the time, but this doesn't take away from Sanji's simpyness. Sanji simps for all his partners, but he only visibly does it with Nami and semi-visibly with Usopp. The other two are far more casual.

Nami's favorite is Vivi (surprise! I got this idea from another post, I don't remember the poster, but aaaugh I love it!!!), but out of the crew it's Usopp. Vivi and Nami are one-to-one, the blue gurl isn't dating anyone else. They keep in contact by constantly sending each other letters and SNÄILIN'!!! Usopp is Nami's crew-favorite because... well... they're besties. They bond over so much, and they're the most open in the relationship with one another (close second being Luffy and Zoro tied with Sanji and Usopp, followed by Luffy and Nami, ect ect).

Usopp's favorites are Nami (because of stated bonding) and Sanji (because of their incredible connection), but Luffy deserves an honorable mention as Usopp spends a lot of time and has a blast with him!! Sometimes they also take two-on-two time, rarely it can turn into a little bit of a quiet session, but usually they rave about future adventures and plans. Sometimes Luffy makes Usopp come up with a 'bedtime story', but it's just an excuse to see the sniper get so passionate and think about another adventure!

(This is also from that other poster, aaaaa thank you for infecting my brain with this incredible rot) Aside Vivi, Kaya is dating both Nami and Usopp! They rarely manage to talk, but when they do their sessions are long and if someone disturbs them it's game over for them!

Now onto the funsy headcanons!

Nami and Usopp browse magazines together on a daily basis (sometimes Robin joins them as the cool mother of the group), and they plan some cool and absolutely ✨️SLAY✨️ outfits none of them can ever wear.

Zoro and Sanji have a little bit of a play-competition going on constantly. They get genuinely pissed off by the other often times, but sometimes they make something a competition as an excuse to angrily make out against the kitchen wall (they definitely 'sword'fight about who tops)

Luffy doesn't completely process the relationship as a, well, romantic relationship. He's more in it for the good times, and because he loves the peeps! He's overall fine with more strictly romantically-viewed things, but sometimes he just doesn't want to. One second he will say "Zoro, crush me with your arms", the next he sees Franky and Robin (the cool parents) kissing and he goes "BLEUGH I'm going to need a shovel to transport this bullshit out of my mouth BLEHHHHHH"

Usopp is the most insecure and unstable in the relationship. He's very people-pleasery, while also trying to keep up a persona. If he ever emotionally talks it's usually to Nami, sometimes to Sanji within the relationship, but outside of it he confides in Franky (the awesome dadster) and Jinbe (the ultimately best grandpops). He tries to get better, but fails to realise how. He has fun with everyone, seeks to be around them at all times, but sometimes he can't help but disappear. If you don't see him at breakfast give him until lunch, at that point it's suitable to check-in. Who knows what the thoughts in his head have made him do.

Sanji has a dedicated notebook/ramblebook about each one of the peeps. Sometimes when he can't sleep, or someone just did something he found notable, he whips out a book and starts going "September 1st, 1989, dear diary-" oh shit, wrong fandom.

Zoro is the one that has to be dragged into things the most, he does go willingly as well but his solitude is important to him. This being said he usually doesn't mind Luffy or Usopp chilling around if he's laying back, sometimes they can ramble and do their own thing as well. A lot of the time it's just sitting and silently contemplating on things, with Usopp at least. If Luffy doesn't have stimulation for five seconds he'll gomu-gomu the ship.

Nami absolutely loves physical contact, but sometimes feels bad that she can't see her girlfriends and feel them around. In these cases she'll request some physical space until things have settled, but sometimes that can make her even more clingy. She usually seeks out Usopp, but will cling onto someone else if he isn't to be seen.

Luffy found a new appreciation for various relationship through the polycule. This also helped him think more healthily about his past, those who are gone and those who are alive. He's managed to settle some feelings, but a lot of experiences still hinder his head. He doesn't think about those things that much, and besides if he feels down he will quite literally start deflating. A quick munch of food, mention of stories or a good song will always cheer him right up.

Usopp actively leaves gifts for everyone around the ship (to the ones outside the relationship as well, but extra for the peeps). They're handmade, and they range from silly notes/drawings with cheesy jokes to actual equipment/tools and sometimes even clothing and jewelry.

I COULD GO ON FOR SO LONG, BUT IF YOU READ THIS FAR THANK YOU FOR BEING AN ENJOYER!!!! And drink some water, you're dehydrated you fucking amazing dewdrop angel baby

HAVE A GOOD TIMEZONE!!!

[draculancer-flow]

i put Supermassive Mod on my Newports so i could go from chainsmoking to belt-feed. pulling a continuous stream of nicotine out of a stolen Harrison Armory blinktech drum magazine. i'm mainlining greywash nanites straight into my skeleton so i can flip bricks without ever seeing the buyer. the DoJ/HR tried to arrest me for snorting the shit Enkidu pilots are on. this shit ain't nothing to me man.

.

[thenighthekate]

Different needs ( t.k. )

Fic based on a poem by (@korijanes) on TikTok

I was oblivious to the fact what is toxic. When I stumbled upon toxic, amazing voice, looks decent, beautiful thoughts we shared. Then poison spread.

He grew up on a porn addiction, rockstar concerts and nicotine from an early age. Sexual views upon all women, expecting them to fall in his bed when they made eye contact. She grew up on unrealistic Vogue magazines, romance novels and midnight walks. Expecting men she read about to show up on her doorstep to sweep her off her feet.

He searched for meaning everywhere his day to day life went. Resulting in highschool parties, liquor sliding down his throat and sex every night that never left him content. She searched for romance everywhere she stepped, settling for Colleen Hoover books and dates every weekend, never finding her prince charming perched up on a white horse.

They met through the same class they took, this is no romance story after all. No Romeo and Juliet, no stolen glances, no love at first sight.

She shouldn't be expecting anything much from his chilled aura and baggy clothes, but she did. She expected a bouquet of flowers and a pulled out chair the first time they met for dinner. Just like he expected her hands on his body, her lips on his after he paid for their food and drinks, in his own mind seeming like such a gentleman.

They were both disappointed, but life was slow, nothing happening, boring. So because of their need for something more they went out the next morning.

Were they friends or lovers? Nobody knew the answer. No labels used for each other, no I love you's whispered in between them. They weren't slow dancing in the rain, her notebook fantasies was something he would never meet.

He wasted his time by giving her validation. He did this only to have her naked by his side, bare skin deep attraction. She wasted her days by giving him her innocence. Her body, her voice, her soul. She did this in order to use him for intimacy that had no real legitimacy.

They were told many things in life. He has heard that chasing a girl would be true ecstasy, but as he looked at her tear stroked face the feeling was far from euphoria. She'd been told that undressing for a guy would be pure heaven, but as her clothes dropped to the floor all she felt was a mess.

They both were the villians of this story, mutual usage of a human shared between them. No real feelings, no true love.

He left her with less of a meaning to his life than before, she left him with lowered standards and soaked tissues. They both had issues.

And even after she had gone, he could feel her in his pillows through the sweet prolific sillage left by her perfume.

[envyangelic]

Southern Nights

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Randall “Pink” Floyd x reader

Warnings: Heavy makeouts, drinking, smoking

Summary: Pink and you have a secret agreement that’s reserved for secluded spots and late nights but what happens when you want more than that?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The orange sky illuminated Michelle’s room by hitting her sun catchers with light. They casted a multitude of colors inside providing the room a glow. Orange and yellow and pink covered every inch of her room.

The both of you laid sprawled onto her bed. She had her guitar straddled on her lap slowly playing some melodic tune. Her cigarette hung out of her mouth, tight between her lips. Its smoke polluted the air tight room. A towel was placed under her bedroom door to prevent smoke from leaking into her house and notifying her mom of her little habit.

You on the other hand flipped through some magazine she had laying around. Lazily pointing out the newest albums that made it on record. You let out an exhausted sigh.

“This blows.” You pout throwing the magazine to the side. You slip off of her bed and stumble towards her record player.

Flipping through the records you throw on the newest vinyl from KISS. Pressing the needle onto the vinyl you let out a sigh.

You hear the faint sound of Michelle’s mom on the hallways telephone. “Turn that off quick-.” Michelle snaps in your direction. You lift the needle from the record. She smushes her cigarette into an ash tray hidden in her drawer. She grabs some of her perfume and sprays a generous amount in the air.

Michelle places her guitar to the side and jumps off her bed pressing her ear to the wall. You accompany her doing the same.

“Who? Who is this? Michelle’s not here-“ Her mom lies and Michelle rips open her bedroom door and races down the hallway towards the phone. You peek your head out of the door smiling at the scene of Michelle grabbing the phone while her mother fights for it.

They argue back and forth while Michelle holds the telephone against her ear. “It’s Michelle!-“ she’s cut off by her mother “You’re not going anywhere, Michelle!” Her mom scolds her trying to grab the telephone out of her hand.

Michelle disregards her mother continuing to talk through the telephone. “Yep- yep right now!” She slams the telephone back on the wall and runs towards her room. Her mother yells after her. “Michelle Buroughs you’re not going anywhere!”

Michelle swoops into her room and you let out a laugh backing away from the door as she slams a chair sitting next to it up against the door knob.

Her mom tries to open it yelling incoherently. “Get dressed, man we’re going to Pinks!” She rips her shirt and digs through her closet throwing something at you in the process.

“I made this for you.” You unravel the piece of clothing that she threw revealing a cropped crochet top that was patterned beautifully.

“Michelle! This is cool, man so cool.” You glee taking off of your shirt and slipping on the crochet.

“I made one for myself too.” She already has put hers on and layered it with one of her vests. She opens her drawer grabbing all of her pot filled ziplock bags and shoved them in her bell bottoms.

While Michelle’s mom relentlessly tries getting into the room you slip on your sandals and follow Michelle who has opened the window. “Love you, mom!” Her mom bickers through the door. She begins to sneak out of it letting out a few raspy laughs before falling onto the ground.

You follow her routine and close the window letting out laughs watching her mom finally open the door to an empty room. Michelle grabs your hand and sprints through her front lawn.

“Man, you’re fucked!” You choke on your laughs following her down the sidewalk. She reaches into her jeans pulling out another cigarette and lighting it.

After a few puffs she hands it to you which you happily take. Putting the cigarette to your lips you intake a deep drag before handing it back feeling the wave of nicotine soothe your nerves.

“Fucked? I’m always fucked. When isn’t she on my ass about everything?” She complains while turning over her shoulder to the sound of a familiar car.

The loud motor belongs to the beloved orange 1970 Pontiac GTO judge (you know the car’s model by heart because of how much Pickford brags about it). Also known as “Pickford’s woman.” Beloved was an understatement because it was worshipped by Pickford. It was his baby with a brand new paint job and muffler, it was hot.

He pulls up to the curb slowing down and rolling his window down. “You ladies need a ride?” He chuckles staring down Michelle. The two have been inseparable since they started dating in the middle of junior year. His eyes wander up and down her body to which she shines a toothy grin.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” She slyly states walking slower and closer to the car. Pickford rubs his chin before reaching into his shirts pocket and pulling out a joint.

“But I have candy, want some?” He stops the car and she opens the car door jumping into his arms. She presses her pink lips against his while strategically grabbing the joint out of his hand.

They lock lips together for a few moments as you open the back of the car and plop inside trying to look at anything other than them.

They both break away for a moment and Michelle pecks his cheek while putting the joint into her mouth. She hands her lit cigarette to you to finish while she holds the joint between her teeth as she flicks her lighter. The bright flame glows and soon enough the car is filled with smoke.

Her cigarette has become nothing but the orange end so you throw it out the window. She picks the joint out of her mouth and twiddles it in her fingers before passing it to you which you graciously accept. You place it in between your lips and suck in. The smoke clusters in your lungs and you let out a soft cough. Michelle smiles turning up the radio as you pass it to Pickford.

Soon enough the sun that barely peeked over the horizon started to set as Pickford parks his car on the curb with the many others that have crowded in front of Pink’s house.

The engine rumbles as he turns the key and you slide out of side. Many other kids have started their drinking frenzy on his lawn. Some already tripping over their own feet as they giggle towards the keg.

Michelle takes a glance around before interlinking her hand with Pickford who grins. You follow the both of them up his driveway.

Pinks house is identical to Pickfords. Two floors and a freshly mowed lawn that is now littered with teenagers. You watch as two freshman run out of the house followed by some very familiar seniors.

Somehow those paddles haven’t broken yet. The seniors catch up to them doubling them over onto Pickford’s car.

“Get off of that car! I just got her waxed man.” Pickford yells with his fist in the air. The seniors grab the freshman’s collars before throwing them onto the lawn and plowing paddles to their asses.

You shake your head not too fond of the beating ritual that has become a tradition at your school. “They’re straight up beating them senseless now.” You complain to Michelle who shows emotion towards the freshman.

“They tried to sneak in the party, what did you expect to happen?” Michelle follows Pickford into the house. Bodies are packed into every room of Pink’s house.

Girls are twiddling with their hair watching the boys play beer pong on Pink’s family dining room table. What a great use. You spot a familiar face on the steps. Slater is zoned out staring into the ceiling. His eyes puffy and red like usually. Pickford and Michelle disappear into the sea of people.

“Slater, are you okay?” You ask a little concerned for the boy who looks like he’s on cloud nine. More like cloud ten thinking about it now. It takes a moment for the question to register in his mind but his face lights up at seeing you.

“Y/N! Hey man, yeah man I’m all good.” His voice trails off as he finishes his sentence. “I can’t believe this is the last week of summer.. it just went swoosh, man, you know?” He makes a wind noise emphasizing the swoosh part.

“It sucks, this summer blew past.” You pitch in sympathizing with his feeling of sadness towards summer ending. “I think I’m gonna go get a drink, see you later?” He points finger guns at me before getting off the stairs and disappearing outside preassumingly trying to find someone with a joint he can bum off of.

You enter the kitchen to see the island table filled with different cases of booze and spiked punch that’s sure to have you blackout by the end of the night. You settle for a beer and wedge the cap between the counter popping it off.

You press the brown bottle to your lips taking a swig of the bitter but sweet drink then continue roaming around the house. Then you spot him, Pink is talking to a group of people. You couldn’t imagine a football player indulging with less popular students but Pink has proved you wrong.

Everyone loves him, the geeks, the preps, the jocks… everyone. He spots you, his graze settles and he smiles. He bids a goodbye and keeps his eyes on you until he walks past you. Your que.

You follow behind him as you watch him walk upstairs. A few seconds later when you make sure no one is looking you walk up the stairs. You’re surprised there isn’t a line of couples making out upstairs yet. You try to find him but a door opens up and a hand grabs you and pushes you into the dimly lit room.

In a split second his lips are on yours. You accidentally squeak in suprise. You’re pushed up against a wall with hands wandering all over your body. Cupping your breasts and gripping onto your sides.

“What took you so long?” He mutters against your neck. You let out a slight laugh. “I didn’t know you were having a party tonight. Where was my direct invite?” You can feel his lips smile against your sensitive neck. He continues biting your skin.

This is your little secret. Ever since Simone and him broke up he has taken a liking to you. A quiet liking that’s reserved for secluded places and sneaking around after dark. For hushed moans and foggy car windows.

You can’t say you don’t like being his secret because the adrenaline of it all keeps you going. It keeps you high all the time. He scrunches your hair in his fingers bringing your lips back to his. The taste of beer still lingers on his pink lips. A soft groan leaves his mouth.

He’s desperate and so are you as your lips continue in a feral manner. He pushes you away. His eyes finally take in your apparence. You watch as his brown irises scan over every part of your body. Taking in every curve and dip. He wraps his hand in the fabric of your crochet shirt.

“Where’d you get this?” He asks as you smile. “Michelle made it for me.”

He smirks looping his finger in between the crochet.

“She’s gonna get you in trouble for wearing something like that.” He lifts it off of you and presses his lips to your chest moving down towards your stomach. He’s gentle, just how you like it. You intake a sharp breath. You can’t tell if it’s the beer but your mind feels so foggy and distant.

“Says you.. can your shirt can anymore unbuttoned?” His blue long sleeved blouse is unbuttoned til his chest. You kind of wish you left a few marks on his collar bone. Maybe it would give everyone else a hint but

you can only imagine how many girls have stared at his chest tonight.

He gruffly laughs twirling his finger in a strand of your hair. “It can.” Your fingers dance around the white buttons and soon his shirt falls off. He smirks against your lips and pushes your body against his. His warmth surrounds you like a hug. It makes you tingly and needy.

Just as your hands travel lower inter-looping with his bulky belt the knob on the door shakes. It startles the both of you causing you to bounce back. Pink coughs “What do you want? I’m getting changed, man!” He yells. His chest rises and falls in a rhythmic matter.

“It’s me.. Jennifer.” There’s silence as Pink gathers the clothes off the ground and hands you your top back. “Give me on second-“ he says as he buttons back his shirt up. You lift the top over your head and adjust it to your body.

In hushed whispers you start to bicker with him “What does she want? Why is she looking for you?” You ask in a quiet whisper and he shakes his head “I don’t know here- hide here.” He opens his closet door revealing a mess of clothes.

“Are you serious, Pink?” He hushes you into the closet and closes the door. You angrily curse at yourself for being so easily hidden away into a closet. You peek through the little cracks. He fixes his jeans to hide the uncomfortable tent that has started to grow under the denim fabric.

He unlocks the knob and Jennifer walks in. Her black wavy droops around her shoulders. Her shirt is tied up showcasing her midwaist and the new bell bottoms she bought. You roll your eyes.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, where you have been?” She coos leaning close to Pink. He tries to back up but she grabs his collar. Internally, you scream.

He pushes her away “This isn’t really a good time, I was just looking for my lighter-“ he points to the lighter on the sled but she shushes him moving closer.

“It’s okay..” he tries to back up once again. A voice yells down the hallway “Pink! You up here, man?” It sounds like Wooderson.

He enters the room as Jennifer moves to the side. Wooderson pushes his hands into his pockets. “Sorry man, didn’t know you were busy.” He laughs while looking at the two of them. Jennifer slyly smiles and Pink shakes his head.

“No, I’m not.” Pink tells Wooderson as he bobs his head. “Good. Uhh, man Mitch is tryna find you ‘cause the seniors are givin’ him a hard time about coming inside.” Pink looks towards Jennifer and shrugs his shoulders “Duty calls.”

The three of them leave the room and you’re left alone in the closet. You feel like crying. You want to find Michelle and drink until you can’t feel anything.

You open the closet door and stand infront of Pinks mirror straightening out your hair trying to soothe yourself. You leave Pink’s room and avoid the couples that have now migrated upstairs to continue their make out sessions.

Walking down the stairs you run into Cynthia. “Y/N! Where have you been?” Her voice is soft and genuine. “I-I don’t really know-“ your voice breaks Cynthia’s lips turn down into a frown.

“Oh are you okay?” She asks standing close. “No, not really.” You respond solemnly. “What happened? You don’t have to tell me.” You shake your head not wanting to share the pain you just experienced.

“I really just need to drink.” You state to the redhead. “In that case..”

<—————————————->

Cynthia has never been much of a party girl. Her clique isn’t really into drinking or partying they like to spend their time playing poker on Fridays. They don’t even own their own lighters or cigarettes and you’ve only seen Cynthia smoke once which resulted in a coughing fit.

But she was cool in her own kind of way. A quirky way that made her fun to be around and talk to. A girl that you could rely on especially on a bad night when you need a reasonable shoulder to lean on. You couldn’t find Michelle anywhere and guessed her and Pickford are long gone in his car somewhere. Cynthia offered to stay with you when you couldn’t find them.

Cynthia had blossomed once she had started going out with Wooderson. You didn’t think it would last because he was already out of high school and had a different outlook on life but in the end it worked out. The two of them were going steady and she had finally started to enjoy her dreaded high school years.

Now the two of you had found solace on the stairs of Pink’s house. She kept her beer sipping occasionally while you gulped down every last drop of yours until it was empty and you went to grab another one. That’s how your night started to go.

Pink was floating around the rooms. You could feel his eyes on you every so often but once you tried to meet his gaze he looked away and continued talking. He was a social floater despite being a football player. Usually the jocks stay away from anyone outside their little clique. But he’s different. He doesn’t care about people’s social status or beating freshman. Maybe that’s what made him so likeable. The beers had only fogged your thinking but you could still feel the jealously in your heart.

The beer buzz had slowly started to hit you. You went to stand up from the stairs and the world started to spin. The crowd blended together and you felt woozy. Cynthia pulls you back to the stairs.

“Bad idea.” She laughs sipping on her beer. You fall back onto the carpeted stairs and put your beer to the side. “The first time Mike drank he didn’t get up once. When he finally did he was way past five beers and totally folded over onto the ground.” She reminisces the memory as you smile.

“I remember the first time I drank. I completely overlooked how much I could handle and ended up blacking out in Michelle’s car.” Cynthia laughs budging you. “No way.”

You nod your head “Yes way, man.” She looks ahead to see Mike and Tony making their way into the crowded scene. Cynthia perks up “You wanna come hang with us?” She asks you shake your head.

“I think I’m gonna leave in a few.. thanks though.” She smiles waving as she walks to the group. You start to stand up as well trying to stabilize yourself against the wall then began your small walk towards the door.

You push through many different people. Some you don’t even know the names of. You look at a clock to read the time “11:30 pm”? There’s no way you’ve been here that long. You rub your temples stumbling out of the house.

You look around the curb and the driveway trying to find a car you know but unfortunately you’re out of luck and it looks like you’re walking home. You rub your arms and take a sharp breath of air starting to walk in between the numerous cars that congest the driveway.

Just as you start your walk down the driveway a hand pulls you back you let out a yelp. You spin around on your heels. Of course, it’s the last person you want to see. Pink.

“Where are you going?” He asks as your face turns sour. “I’m leaving, I don’t want to be here anymore.” As you try to turn around Pink walks infront of you as you keep walking forward. He faces you walking backwards keeping up your pace.

“Why? You can’t walk home alone, you’re drunk!” He argues with you but you want no part of it. “Well I don’t want to walk with you!” You try to slip past Pink but he counters it.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks as he stops you by holding your shoulders. “You! Why was she trying to get with you? Were you flirting with her?” Your voice breaks as he sighs.

“No! I don’t even talk to her. Why are you so upset?” His arrogance to the situation has you frustrated. “I don’t know, maybe because she was trying to fuck you!” You shrug his hands of your shoulders and start walking past him once again.

“I wouldn’t fuck her. I only like you!” He admits while you stop in your tracks. “I don’t want any other girls trying to get with you. I hate the fact that they all think you’re single while you’re sneaking around me.” You start to ramble your feelings while tears prick your eyes.

“I wish other girls could know about you and me. I’m tired of keeping this a secret. I know if I don’t hold your hand some other girl will..” You continue, he turns quiet. He walks behind you and wraps his arms around your body. He pulls you close and presses his lips against your ears.

“What’s stopping you from being seen with me?” He kisses your neck as happiness bubbles inside of you. You wipe away your tears and smile. “Nothing.” You mutter as he turns your around and kisses your lips. You’re sure a bunch of eyes are on you and him. In this moment you don’t care. All you can focus on is Pinks hands around your waist.

He holds your face while your lips connect slowly. You smile against his lips and he pulls away. “You still want to go home?” His low voice coos in your ear.

He catches your lips for a quick kiss.“No… I don’t.”