#Something about it is just so funny to me. Especially the silence with the occasional mouse clicks

[eudikot]

Accidental video/audio mashup from two different episodes

[obvi-the-best-soph]

we're all bound to break. (chapter 1)

alexia putellas masterlist: here requests: here

based on this request: Hey! Got a request for a teen!fic with Barca women’s team (focus on Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid if possible). I’m a sucker for angst so would love an angsty storyline, maybe an injury or off pitch event or something!

word count: 2,375k

summary: your parents pass away 2 weeks before the champions league final, but you don't tell anyone, which of course has knock on effects.

genre: angst/hurt warnings: disordered eating, vomiting, death of parents, swearing, grief, drunk driver/car accident, alcohol, struggling alone, body dysmorphia.

chapter 2

a/n: this is my first full length fic i'm posting on here, so i hope you enjoy it. sorry if the spanish is bad, i tried lol. would love requests and feedback as this had taken me literally ages. thank youuu :)

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Ever since you were a little kid, 4 or 5, you had wanted to play for Barcelona. Your papá had taken you to nearly every game you could make it to, and you loved it. That was always a special time, just you, and papá, and football. That was how you liked it. You and papá. Of course, you loved your mamí too, more than anything, but she didn’t quite love football just as much as you, but she was always supportive and tried her best to understand. So when the contract came for the first team of Barcelona Femení, you couldn’t put pen to paper fast enough. And suddenly, papá wasn’t just coming to games to watch the team, but to watch his own pequeña princesa (little princess) play.

And you absolutely dominated too. At first, you were just another new signing for Barcelona, a young kid that would probably barely ever play and hardly ever get started, but you quickly squashed those assumptions, scoring a hattrick in your debut game, shocking Camp Nou into near silence. You celebrated every goal by making a heart with your hands over your eyes, looking through the gap, where your papá would be cheering and clapping for you. Everything you did, you did for your papá… sound familiar? Every award you had won was dedicated to him, every goal, every game, similar to your mentor and current roommate, Alexia Putellas. When you signed for Barcelona, you had needed somewhere to stay as you and your family lived just outside the city, and after Alexia had met you, she had immediately offered. So that’s where you lived, in an apartment with Alexia. And occasionally, her girlfriend Olga. 

But Alexia wasn’t the only person you’re close to, Mapi and Ingrid often hosting you for sleepovers on weekend or Friday nights. You loved Mapi, always interested in her tattoos and their stories, or the funny things she’d tell you about Alexia or Ingrid. And Ingrid was great too. 

You loved all the Barca girls really, the second you stepped foot in there, they welcomed, loved and accepted you. Especially Ona, who you had become really close to, and Lucy and Kiera were always funny when you tried to teach them Spanish. Lucy was pretty good, but Kiera could barely make her way through “¿Hola, cómo estás?” (Hello, how are you?) without stuttering or looking around for reassurance. She was teased for it a lot, but it was all in good fun. All in all, you loved it at Barcelona, and now anywhere with that team felt like home. 

This season, you have been killing it. Scoring at least one goal every game, often two. And now, you've made it to the Champions League final. 2 weeks before, you got the most devastating call of your life. 

“Is this Y/N L/N?”

“Si, who is this?”

“Uh hola, this is the Police Department of (your hometown), and we regret to inform you that both of your parents have been involved in a serious car accident, they were hit at high speed by a drunk driver. Unfortunately neither of them have survived the impact.”

The phone slipped from your hands, clattering to the floor. Everything went blurry, the tears clouding your vision, and your knees shook until you found yourself crumpled on the bathroom floor. Thankfully, Alexia and Olga had gone out for dinner that night, so you were home alone, otherwise you would’ve immediately had people at your side, and you couldn’t think of anything worse right now. 

So… what now? No more papá, no more mamí…

You didn’t know what to do. So you just sat on the kitchen floor, and cried. And cried. And cried some more. “Why did it have to be me? Why did it have to be my parents?” you thought, the stages of grief already hitting you hard. 

After another hour and a bit longer of crying, you retreated to your room. You curled up in your bed, staring off into space, thinking about all the little things you didn’t have anymore. No more hugs from mamí, no more of her cooking, no more one on one time with papá, no more childhood home to go back to, no doubt your Tia (aunt) would sell that the second her greedy, money-loving little mitts could, no more papá. No more mamí. The two people that kept your world spinning. 

You decided you weren’t going to tell any of the team about it, not yet. Maybe after the final. There were a few reasons you’d thought of, one; you didn’t want them to pity you and treat you differently, two; you didn’t want to make them worry over you anymore than they already, and three; you just couldn’t bear to actually voice the words. “My mamí and papá are dead.” It was too much, too painful. So, you just stayed silent.

You didn’t get out of bed or leave your room much anymore, unless it was for training or other football stuff. That made Alexia begin to worry, you were always happy, and cheerful and hyper and pestering the others. But now you seemed like a shell of the person you were, which was partly true. You didn’t enjoy life much anymore, you just barely managed to drag yourself out of bed each morning, no breakfast, training, then back home, and back to bed. Spending so much time in bed was something you thought to be ‘lazy’ or ‘slobbish’, although you still couldn’t manage to muster up enough energy or fucks to give to get out of it. So you began skipping meals. Not intentionally per say, but you certainly weren’t trying overly hard to eat either. 

And when you look in the mirror nowadays, in a strange, twisted way, you prefer what you saw. You look older, more mature like the other girls in the team, not the baby-faced 16 year old the public sees you to be. So you make even less effort to eat. You know you should, that an athlete starving themselves was like trying to drive a car on empty, but you simply can’t part with the new reflection you saw, the ‘beautiful’ and ‘mature’ one. 

Finally, the day of the final rolled around, and everyone was extremely hyped. The locker room was buzzing, music blasting, girls dancing around, and the atmosphere generally excited. But all you could feel was the emptiness of your stomach, the pounding in your head from the harsh drum beats of the music, the way the backs of your ankles had large red blisters from how your skin had thinned and now the bone rubbed right against the back of your cleats now, the overwhelming feeling of loneliness, knowing that neither of your parents were in the crowd. So you kept quiet, avoiding conversations unless they were completely necessary, slipping out of the locker room as soon as you had finished changing. 

You were starting today, playing up the front with Alexia. You two had become known for your chemistry on and off the pitch, goal scoring machines on it and best friends off it. Alexia had been insanely worried about you recently, living with you, she had obviously noticed your tendency to stay in bed and skip meals, she’d always push for you to eat, but you always passed it off with a “Sorry, I’m not feeling well, I think I’m just going to go to bed.” “Oh, no, gracias, I’m not hungry.”. 

You jogged onto the pitch behind Alexia, before joining the line facing out to the stadium while the National Anthems played, Alexia had her arms wrapped around my shoulders, and her firm grip and presence felt like it was just about the only thing holding you up in that moment. You refused to look at the place where your parents always sat, not being able to bear the sight of someone else sitting in their seats. 

The first whistle blew, and you played well for the first half, scoring a goal in the 26th minute after Alexia set you up for a header. You didn’t really know how to celebrate it, there was no point in doing your usual celebration, because there was no one to look through your heart hands at. You barely even smiled, letting the team just crowd around you with a group hug type thing before getting back to it. You scored again about 10 minutes into the second half, the equalizer, the score was now 2 all, but once again, you barely celebrated. Running on an empty stomach had meant that the game had drained most of your energy, and you weren’t really in the right frame of mind for playing anyway, stuffed full or starving. 

Now, it was the 89th minute, and still a draw, someone needs to score, and quick. You snapped yourself out of the hazy, barely-there headspace you’d been playing in previously. Now was not time for being floaty and sloppy, now was the time to focus. You yelled at Alexia profusely for the ball, 45 seconds on the clock. She made a shit pass, but you managed to recover it. There were 2 defenders on you, and you were barely past halfway with no support, but a quick glance at the clock and you had made up your mind.

You shot. From halfway out. It was a powerful shot, with the perfect curve and force. You watched as it flew through the air, the stadium silent, but the second the ball hit the back of the net, the noise was near unbearable. 20 seconds to go, you’d scored a hattrick, won Barcelona the final, scored from halfway out, and not even celebrated. 

3-2 to Barcelona.

The final whistle blew. All Barcelona goals had been scored by the 16 year old girl. The 16 year old girl that hadn’t eaten in 2 days, the 16 year old girl that had no family to her name but an aunt that never liked her, the 16 year old girl that had secretly been an orphan for 2 weeks, the 16 year old girl that didn’t even know what to feel anymore. 

This was your dream. Win the Champions League for Barcelona. It’d been your dream for as long as you could remember. But it didn’t mean anything now. Not without papá waving his silly flag from the stands, cheering louder than everyone else in the section, wearing your jersey, waiting with open arms when the sound of the last whistle rang through the stadium. 

You stumbled off the pitch, the exhaustion and lack of fuel to keep your body going hitting you all once. You felt weirdly light, your head spinning and vision blurry, steps uneven, like the ground was moving beneath you, like you weren’t really controlling your body.

Eventually, you got to the locker room, where there was thankfully a few sandwiches and some Powerades laying around from before the game. As much as you really, really, didn’t want to eat them, you knew you couldn’t pass out. Not now anyway. So you swallow the two sandwiches down, washing the bready taste away with the Powerade, trying hard not to think about all the carbs and calories in the meal.

You made your way back out to the pitch. But you didn’t go into the middle to celebrate with the other girls. You just plonked down a little way in from the sideline, just staring out at everything, the crowd, the girls, the losing team, the fans, the losing fans. It wasn’t like you at all. You were always in the action, partying and pestering, but now, you were intentionally avoiding it. You hid away in the dugout when you saw the team looking around for you. Their star player. “The goal scoring machine at 16”, as some fans had nicknamed you.

“Y/N? What are you doing chica? Come celebrate!” Alexia called at you from the sidelines, grinning, a slight confused furrow in her brows. 

Welp, hiding place blown you guess. You sigh and get up, painting a fake smile across your face and letting Alexia wrap her arm around your shoulder as she leads you back to where the rest of the team are, in the middle of the pitch.

“Y/N! Our little superestrella (superstar)!” Mapi yells, excitedly making her way towards you, the rest of the team rushing along behind her, wanting to celebrate you. Attention. The last thing you wanted right now, but you were being smothered in it. 

Eventually, the team retreated from the pitch, and into the locker rooms. That was okay, there was far too much alcohol and drunk women in there for you to be allowed in, being underage still. So you went home. Despite practically winning the Champions League for Barcelona, you just ordered an Uber and took yourself home, flicking Alexia a quick text to tell her you’d left.

You got back to the shared apartment and struggled your way through a shower before crashing into bed, and crying. Bawling. Sobbing. Shaking. At one point, screaming.

Over the past two weeks, you had gone through a lot of the stages of grief, but most recently, anger. 

Why? Why had it had to happen to them? What had they done so wrong that the universe needed to kill them? Why you? Why them? You couldn’t remember your last words to them either, so nowadays any time someone left, you made sure to say a real goodbye. 

You had passed out after around 2 hours of violent crying, having cried so hard at one point you’d had to lean over the bed to be sick in the wastebasket between your nightstand and the mattress. It felt good, as your mamí had always said, better out than in. It also made you feel a tiny bit better about the sandwiches earlier too.

It wasn’t until 10am the next day Alexia stumbled in the front door. She wasn’t drunk anymore, but looked insanely hungover. She cracked the door to your bedroom and looked at you. Really looked at you. 

“Superestrella, we need to talk. There’s something wrong, and you’re going to tell me what it is.”

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a/n: sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger! but i just want to see how well this goes before launching into a second part. feedback would be greatly appreciated, but of course please be kind! 

requests for a part 2 (or any other requests): here

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [ii]

"Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don't fit, a kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you signed up to help tara with her stupid plan. not whatever the hell one would call this.

warnings: implied sex, use of alcohol, puking, arguing loudly and wrongly, curse words(?)

word count: 5.2k

A/N: sorry to make you wait so long, but here's the second part. there will probably be a third, so fear not, the story doesn't end here. i originally thought i would be able to just end it off right here, but it’s going kind of really well and i think a third or maybe even a fourth part is more reasonable

===+++===

===+++===

For almost the entire walk to the frat house, Tara didn't actually say much. It surprised you too, the way she just glanced around the city that passed as you walked and fiddled with her nails. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you were so used to Tara having something to say that it made you speak instead.

"Wow, for once, you're speechless," you commented as you passed under a streetlight. Tara shot you a glare, shoving her hands into her jean pockets.

"Would it kill you to shut the hell up?"

“There we go, back to normal. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” she scoffed. “Mind your own business.”

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't say. Don't say."

===+++===

The party fucking sucked. It was quintessential college, with frat boys who attempted to yell over the loud music that rattled your eardrums. Coolers upon coolers of shitty, cheap beer sat against the far wall, and a crowd had gathered around them to pick off all the free alcohol they could. Maybe a year ago this would’ve been fun. Now you found yourself disenchanted with the ordeal.

Tara was off god knows where, doing god knows what, which you figured was the point of the arrangement anyway. You weren’t too concerned with tracking her down, especially if situation also presented itself as a pleasant bonus— not having to put up with her.

Chad had wandered out of the room when he saw you and Tara arrive together hand in hand, going deeper into the party without a word. He was usually the one you hung around with at these kinds of things, but he had been a sad little dog with his tail between his legs since you and Tara announced you were meant to be a few days before the party. It seemed some of your friends were still adjusting.

The immediate reaction after Tara said “soooo, we’re together,” was to laugh, like you two were doing a bit. It got less funny when they saw you both blankly staring back at them and then Tara grabbed your hand and held it up with a forced smile.

The whole group was going through a somewhat awkward seven stages of grief thing. Chad was avoiding you completely, Quinn was a bit annoyed you were off the market now after an egregious few months of hitting on you, and Ethan was the only one to be a bit normal, even though it was clear he too had a crush on Tara and was disappointed with the matter.

When Mindy had gotten over her disbelief, she dove right into an endless game of questions, only occasionally staved off by Anika. "So who confessed first?" had been one of the first ones, accompanied by a glint in her eye. Tara jumped in before you could even open your mouth, eager to answer.

"(Y/n) showed up on my porch, all sweaty and disgusting looking, just smelling so unbelievably bad it was overpowering-”

“I had been working out,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s why I was sweaty."

“Mhm, whatever. Anyways, apparently they were just being such an asshole because they were in love with me," Tara said, with a wide, shit-eating grin. "Right?"

You had to hide your glare behind your solo cup. "Mhm. I was just overflowing with it. I have so many things to say about you."

“All nice things,” Tara corrected.

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

Mindy’s questions followed you everywhere she did. Who kissed who first? Who’s more cuddly? Have you guys slept together yet? They volleyed back and forth and you and Tara fought for the first word each time to pin it to the other with gleeful sadism. Of course, it was then flipped around once the next question came and you would huff in annoyance at the other for being an asshole.

It wasn’t as bad of an arrangement as you had dreaded. You only had to be couple-y when other people were watching you two interact, or when Sam would glare in suspicion. Hold hands a few times, smile, share a glance. Other than that, things stayed mostly the same. The group probably appreciated you both not acting head over heels for the other and you liked it because it meant you didn't have to pretend to like her.

Tara had a brazen way about her that made you roll your eyes. She never took no for an answer, had a teasing remark for anything, and always felt the need to be doing something. Other people seemed to find themselves charmed by it. Others, but not you. Never you.

The walk there had been about all she could take of your personality, and the moment after you two were seen together, she ditched you at the door and wandered off to the dance floor. After that you had lost track of her, and ended up splitting your time between the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front room, away from the crowd. Mindy found you there, tugging Anika along with her.

"Cut the bullshit," She said with an eye roll, sitting right down on the couch in front of you. Anika plopped down next to her. "There's no way in hell you got together with Tara."

You grinned, sipping your beer and partially using it to block your expression. "No, we're together. I really like her."

Mindy scoffed. "You're a terrible liar." Your cheeks warmed and you tilted your head to the side.

"We have to separate you two like warring chihuahuas every time we hang out together," Anika said. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes in a study of your face. "You're not confessing your undying love."

"I did."

"You didn't!" Mindy said, and she threw up her arms.

"I did."

"You didn't," Anika snorted.

"I...," you looked at them both, "...are you guys going to snitch?"

"Snitch to who?" asked Mindy. Now they were both leaned in, like eager children around a campfire. You swallowed.

"Sam." Mindy blinked. Then she sat back.

"What the hell did Tara get you involved in?" she asked. As much as Sam was part of your group, it was known not to fuck with her, and that's exactly what Tara was making you do.

You frowned. If anyone was going to ruin the plan, it probably wouldn't be Mindy or Anika. "You can't tell Chad, but we're not actually together."

Anika raised her eyebrows and shot Mindy a glance. "That didn't take a lot of brain power to figure out." You shrugged.

"Well, we fooled Sam. Tara needs a fake partner so she can go to parties and see people and stuff. And, well, you know how Sam is about that stuff."

Mindy crossed her arms. "And you said sure?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I didn't really see why not. Plus, she was being super annoying about it. Showed up at my house. She was begging, almost."

"So, you what, took pity?" Anika asked, giving you a look. You rolled your eyes.

"Trust me, it's not because it's fun. She's way too annoying and she'd probably say the same thing about me."

Mindy frowned, looking out the doorway and into the booming party. "Chad wouldn't like it."

You sent her a worried look. "Please please please, don't tell Chad. I know he's upset by the whole thing, but Sam would literally kill me if she knew I was helping Tara run around town."

"I don't know...," she said. "I know Tara wants freedom, but this is kind of bullshit, (Y/n)."

"It won't be for long. She just wants to meet someone. When she does, it's over. Life goes back to normal."

"Do you guys have a target in mind, or something?" Anika asked, a bit amused.

"Not even a little a bit. It’s like, her second party ever,” you shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s really dead set on a person yet.”

“Well… she better figure it out soon.”

“Mhm.” You looked out the same glass door and into the booming party outside. Through the jumping crowd, you could see in the distance Tara, who was dancing with her eyes shut and a smile spread wide across her cheeks. She looked happy like that.

You took a swig of your beer.

===+++===

The boom of a fist on your door shook the thin walls of your apartment, and you jolted awake to hear three more hit the wood.

“OPEN UP (Y/N), NOW!”

Immediately, a headache washed over you and you groaned. You tried to smush your head into the pillow to make it go away but there were the banging fists again, and you sat up, letting your legs dangle off the edge.

“OPEN THE FUCK UP,” came the voice again, and you blinked. Oh shit. You knew that voice. You clambered to your feet and stumbled out your bedroom and down the hall in a dusty pair of shorts and shirt. “I’M NOT KIDDING! OPEN THE—”

You pulled the door open like a deer in headlights, seeing Sam seethe on the other side with her fist raised. Nostrils flared, forehead creased, eyes narrowed. She looked about ready to rip your head off.

“You,” she said, spitting the word. You flinched. “Where the fuck is Tara?!”

Shit shit shit shit shit. Had she not gone home the night before?? Things felt a little bit fuzzy still. You remembered grabbing another beer from Ethan and flopping down in an armchair, then another and another, and then maybe wandering home while the sun started to rise. Had you seriously lost track of the attempted murder victim on her first night out???

You blinked, already aware that your cheeks were a dusty pink. "I, uh... she, um..."

Her hands went to her hips, glaring at you expectantly. "Well?! Where the hell is my sister?!" When you were still staring like an idiot, she threw up her arms. "I fucking knew I shouldn't have trusted you with her! This is what I get"

You stared, feeling a lie (though probably a clunky one) come to your brain. "I think her phone must've died, but she just left."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but you weren't sure if it was in disbelief or even more rage. "What do you mean?"

"We, um," your eyes went to the floor, feeling her glare laser itself into you as you spoke. "We got super drunk last night at the party, and I brought her back here and we both fell asleep," you looked back up to see her giving your pyjamas a once over, nose wrinkled. You flushed. "No! No— we didn't do that. We just fell asleep."

Sam looked at you for a moment, then crossed her arms. "I waited all night for her, you know," she said.

You nodded. "I know. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

"It won't." Sam repeated. "When I don't hear from her for a whole night, you know what I assume happened, right? You know how that feels?"

You swallowed. "I do."

She sighed. "I'm really trying here. I know she doesn't want me worrying about her, and I know she wants freedom. So I'm trying, (Y/n). Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, Sam." It felt like a giant wedge in your throat, and you tried to smile at her but she continued to frown, and she turned around and walked off. The moment she was gone, you spun around and slammed the door. You dashed through your apartment, grabbing your phone off your nightstand and quickly pulling up her contact.

Little Shit (do not pick up). You pressed the button and put it up to your ear, wandering over to the nearby curtain and lifting it to look out onto the city. "Come on, come on," you pleaded aloud. "Fucking pick up, asshole."

After the third ring and a good prayer to god even though you weren't especially religious, it stopped ringing and you could hear her grumbling.

"Tara??" you rushed. "Tara, where are you?"

"Mmm," she groaned, "the hell do you want so early?"

You scoffed. "Tara it's almost noon." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Uh huh," you grunted. "Your sister just almost ripped my door off it's fucking hinges because she doesn't know where you are. And you know what, neither do I!" There was some shuffling from her end, and then what sounded like running footsteps.

"I went home with this girl last night, I just woke up," she rushed. "Sam is going to kill me!"

"She almost killed me!" You almost yelled into the phone. Now that the worry had subsided you were left with anger. "She almost killed me because you wandered off and didn't go home."

"It's not like I meant to fall asleep," she argued back, and you could hear some talking in the background in faint voices. "I must've slept through my alarm— wait, what did you tell Sam?"

"That your phone died, and you were on your way home."

"WHAT?! (Y/n), this girl's apartment is at least fifteen to twenty minutes away," Tara said into the phone.

"Well it's not like I knew that, now is it?" you shot back, scratching your arm, "considering I didn't know if you were even alive until you picked up."

"God, not you too. I'm fine, drama queen."

"Drama queen?"

"Yeah, drama queen," Tara repeated, and more noises flooded in. It sounded as if she was in the city now, walking, "you sound just like Sam. I picked you because I thought you knew I didn't need a babysitter."

"That's not being babysat, Tara. That's making sure you're not dead," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm not."

"Good."

"Great."

"Fine!" you shot back.

"Awesome."

You sighed into the speaker. "Pick up some flowers or something on your way back. Claim that's why you're late."

"Good idea, actually," Tara hummed.

"I know." And you hung up.

===+++===

You found yourself at an identical party the very next Friday night too, and the Friday after that, and after that too. The walls were just as stained. It smelled just as full of mold. This one didn't have a front room for you to barricade in, so you sat at the bar top instead, in the kitchen with your chin rested on the cool granite.

It had taken a whole night to get rid of the hangover from a few weeks before, and in doing so you had remembered why it was exactly that you didn't find these things too fun, anyways. You hadn't gotten anywhere near as drunk since. Mindy and Anika had decided on date night instead, and Chad and Ethan were off to watch a movie that originally you would've been invited to, had it not been for Tara.

It was painful, that Chad was ducking you. The irony wasn't lost, that the more time you spent with your fake girlfriend at parties and outings like a couple, the closer you got to actually repairing your relationship with him. You still would've rather gone to the movie, though.

You could actually see Tara, from where you sat. Through the bar window in the kitchen, she was on the dance floor, moving along with the rhythm of hard EDM as best she could. It was a giant mob of people, all clumped up and hopping around in excitement, and you didn't especially want to be out there.

As you watched, a guy came up behind Tara, tapping her on the shoulder and smiling down at her. You thought nothing of it, until you got a longer look at the guy's face. In the revolving, multicoloured lights that hung over the crowd, you recognised him in an instant, standing straight up and weaving your way through the party.

"You having fun, Carpenter?" He asked, with a douche-y smirk on his face as he said it. You rolled your eyes, coming up behind Tara and standing right behind her.

"I—" but you interrupted her.

"She is, Frankie," you shot, staring at him and crossing your arms. Tara whipped around to you with a glare.

"(Y/n), go away," she whispered loudly. But you stood your ground.

"Tara, literally anyone but him. I mean, anyone—"

"That's not your decision."

"Sam tased him in the balls last time. I mean, come on, you have to know he's a douche."

Frankie scoffed. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"(Y/n) is just a—"

"—We're dating," you interrupted again. "So fuck off."

"No, we aren't," Tara shook her head. "Not really."

"Yes, we are," you nodded at Frankie. "Please leave. She's not sleeping with you tonight." He frowned, but started to walk off.

"That's not your decision, asshole!" Tara scowled and she reached out an arm to stop him. "Frankie, stay. You know what, I wasn't going to, but I will now."

"Frankie, leave. I mean it, you creep." You turned to her and glared. "Tara, listen to me, you—"

"No! Frankie, stay. Maybe I need the company," she shot back, narrowing her eyes. Frankie looked between you both, as did a few other people in the room who were starting to notice.

"They literally call him Date-Rape-Frankie, Tara. There's no way in hell you're sleeping with Date-Rape-Frankie. Frankie, leave."

"Frankie, no, stay. Well, what if I want to?"

"Then you're being stupid."

"Bold choice of words coming from you! You're not my mother."

"I'm not trying to be your mom, Tara. I'm using basic common sense. That guy is a creep and a perv," you pointed to him.

"Hey!" Frankie interjected, raising a hand to your shoulder.

"Fuck off!" you and Tara said in unison, dismissing him to glare right at each other.

"Well maybe I deserve the freedom to sleep with weirdos and whoever I want! I mean, who are you, the fucking sex-Nazi?"

"I don't have a problem with literally anyone else, Tara, but he's a weirdo!"

"Well then let me make that call! I'm not five. You don't need to baby me, I know he's a weirdo!" People were definitely staring now. You were both shouting, but a lot of it was drowned out by the EDM. It didn't stop others watching you point in each others faces and scowl.

"It's not babying you, Tara! It's basic caring! You have no clue about this shit, this is like your fourth party ever!"

"I've managed this far, haven't I?!"

"What, you want a cookie?!"

"Yeah, maybe I fucking do! I'm an adult, asshole! Let me do adult shit!"

"Wow, it's so adult and mature of you, to sleep with creeps and get hungover every Friday. How adult."

"Well, maybe it's not, but who gives a shit! I'm having fun for once! I'm being free without a fucking serial killer on my ass! I know you can't relate, but Christ, take the stick out from your ass!"

"Real nice," you shook your head. "This is what I get for helping you. Of fucking course." Before she could reply, you turned around and headed out the sliding glass door, into the fenced-in backyard. There was a pool back there, and you collapsed into a wrought iron pool chair, right near the edge.

People watched you warily, as you sat out there, but within minutes, the party was resumed. Even from outside, you could hear the thumping bass shake the windows gently as the glass moved in the panes.

There was a faint scent of petrichor from the small patch of grass out there, and the sky rumbled in the distance. It was peaceful out there, with small hanging fairy lights and the pool in front of you. You propped your legs up on the glass table and tried not to scream.

This was exactly what you should've expected, from Tara. Of course she would be selfish. Of course she would be brash. A part of you wasn't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. You just sat there and tried to cool your breathing, watching the city lights in front of you.

You must've sat like that for an hour or two, just watching the city. It didn't feel like long enough. You might've even felt at peace, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Um...excuse me?" You craned your neck around, looking up in your chair to see a concerned guy looking down at you.

"Are you (Y/n)?" He asked, awkwardly scratching his neck. You nodded, confused.

"Uh, yeah? Do we know each other?"

"No! No, I was asked by Tara, I think was her name? She wanted me to get you. She's your girlfriend, right?"

The worry came back, and you stood up. "Why, what happened? Where is she?" Sam was really going to kill you.

"She's in the guest bathroom, I think she's sick."

===+++===

"Tara?"

"(Y/n)?" you heard a very uneasy voice on the other end.

"Can I come in?" you asked, and when there was no response, you let yourself inside. She was on the other end of the massive bathroom, leaned up against the bathtub with her head close to the toilet bowl.

Tara looked absolutely green, with her hair sweatily stuck to her forehead and eyes barely open. "Christ Tara, how much did you have to drink?" you asked in worry, coming to stand over her.

"Oh, just—" she gagged like she was about to puke and you bent down to grab her and tug her towards the toilet bowl. You spun back to the guy in the doorway, who stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Can you get me some crackers and Gatorade?" you asked him, sending a hopeful glance. He nodded and closed the door, and you turned back to Tara, who was bent over the toilet bowl.

You moved her gently and lifted the toilet seat up. "Are you okay?" you asked with a frown. You felt like an idiot the moment it left your mouth.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look okay?" Tara mumbled.

"Well, no."

"Thass' good," she slurred. "I had too many," she hiccupped. You nodded.

"I'd say so. How much did you have Tara?"

She giggled. "This many." She held up four fingers with a giant, toothy grin and slumped with her arms encircling the toilet bowl.

"Since when?" you blinked.

"Since you got allllllllll pissy!" You sighed, hands going to her hair and pulling it back. She wrinkled her nose at you. "Why are you touching my hairrrrr?!"

"So you don't vomit all on it, idiot," you replied, shaking your head. Tara huffed.

"I'mnuh gonnuh puke."

And then Tara puked. Everywhere.

===+++===

You both sat there, that way, for about ten minutes. Tara vomited three times, during that span, and when she was done, you handed her the crackers and Gatorade and told her to do her worst.

She downed them in another fifteen minutes, sitting in the bathtub and eating while you sat leaned up against the bathroom wall, across from her, just in silence. The sounds of the party seemed to have died a little bit as the night droned on, and by now people would be wandering home or to someone else’s place.

While you waited, you shot Sam a text, letting her know you’d bring Tara home and that she was okay. Sam didn’t reply but she saw the message, and you figured that was good enough. When you checked the weather app, Tara finally spoke, coming to her senses a bit with more food in her system.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, staring down at the package for the crackers in her hand. “Thanks.”

You shrugged, staring at the toilet in front of you. It probably reeked in there, but at this point you were nose blind. “For what?” You meant for that to be it, just a small little acknowledgment, but Tara shook her head.

“Thank you for that. For being here.”

She stared right at you when she said it, and you knew she meant it with conviction. You nodded. “I know we don’t always get along, but I had your back, back there.”

“You have my back?” she asked, smiling a little and grabbing her Gatorade from the edge of the tub.

“I agreed to help you, didn’t I?”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “You did, yeah.” Tara looked over at you, then tilted her head to the side. “I still don’t get why, though.”

“You were honest, for once.” It came from a surprising place, and you said it before you entirely knew you were speaking. You didn’t completely know what it meant either, until after you said it, but the words passed between you almost like a new understanding.

A few moments of silence came and went, before she spoke again. “I walk silently places at night in case I hear I’m being followed. By Ghostface. Same thing as when I’m home alone. I don’t do it as much anymore, but I still do it sometimes. Don’t tell Sam, please please please. She’ll make me go to therapy.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding gently. You leaned your head back up against the wall, craning it up to look at the ceiling.

“Why are you being nice to me?” She asked. You laughed, tracing the popcorn pattern of the roof with your eyes.

“I’m not the devil, Tara.”

“…Neither am I.”

“I know,” you said, and you reached your arm out for a cracker. She gave you one and you crunched down on it, while an especially large bass hit came from the speakers outside. “God, this music fucking sucks,” you groaned.

Tara nodded. “It’s really hard to dance to.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “it didn’t seem like you were struggling earlier.”

Tara frowned, then tilted her head in curiosity. “What’s your favourite song?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said.

“Okay… you’re going to laugh, though.”

“Am I?” she grinned. You nodded.

“Do you know that one song, The Promise, by When In Rome? It’s from the 80s, it’s super cheesy?”

She stared off for a moment, in thought, then shook her head. “Don’t think so, how’s it go?”

You rolled your eyes, but began to quietly sing it in a tone that wavered in between spoken word and humming. It was terrible and you were tone deaf, but it was the song. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a straaanger. You know in the end,” your voice broke a little at the low note, and Tara giggled but you continued, “I’ll always be thereee.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. And then it skips a little bit and the chorus goes, ‘I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say, I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to beee.’”

She cut you off with her hand, laughing hysterically. You felt your cheeks flushed, and in any other time you would’ve been annoyed with her laughing at you. But this didn’t feel mean. You just smiled right back.

“That was good, actually,” she managed, between small laughs. “Why is it your favourite?”

“Um,” you shrugged, “my brother used to sing it to me, years ago when I was scared.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tara said, leaning her head on the tile wall of the tub.

“I have six.”

She blinked, then sat up straight. “Since when?!”

“Always, Carpenter,” you shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

“Everyone who?”

“Chad, Mindy, Anika. Even Quinn.”

“I didn't know. How come you never talk about them?”

”I just don’t,” you frowned. Tonight was definitely not the night to get into that. Instead, you pivoted topics. “Why, what’s your favourite song? I showed you mine, now you’ve got to show me yours.”

“I’m ninety nine percent sure that’s not how that saying is used,” she laughed, “but fine. When I was crying as a baby, my mom sung me this song, called Baby, I Love You by The Ronettes.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

Tara shook her head. “Probably not, but they’re the same group that does that one song Be My Baby?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently my mom had Baby, I Love You playing in the hospital, when I was born and everything. It’s kind of comforting. When I miss her, I play it.”

“How often is that?”

She shrugged. “More than you’d think, considering she’s a giant asshole.”

"That's always how it is."

"Mhm... and just so you know, I know Frankie was a creep. I wasn't actually going to do anything with him. Just flirt. Have fun."

"I know. I wasn't trying to babysit you, I just wanted to warn you. That creep has so many stories."

"I know. I just don't like being told what to do, sometimes. It's a whole thing. I'm working on it, seriously."

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything at all. You both sat in what you assumed was a prolonged silence, until you looked down finally to see Tara’s eyelids falling heavy.

You stood up with a sigh. “You should go home.” There was no reply, and you checked out the small window in the bathroom to still see it was pitch black out. It was definitely too late to send her home this sleepy, and after the incident a few weeks ago, there was no way Sam would let her stay at yours. “Tara,” you nudged her.

She groaned, rolling over in the tub and snuggling up. You rolled your eyes, then looked out the window one more time with an annoyed grumble.

===+++===

The longer you had to walk with her on your back, the more you regretted this. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, face pressed onto the back of your shoulder and knees held up by your hands. You couldn’t see her, but you knew her eyes were shut and she was super close to being actually asleep.

"We make a good team, you know," she mumbled into your shoulder. You knew she was being funny, but you were too tired to laugh as you trudged up the hill. Carrying a drunk girl home was not at all what you had anticipated of the night, and though it had been shitty at the beginning and shitty until almost the very end, you could definitely say it wasn't shitty right then.

When you arrived at her apartment complex, Tara was soundly asleep and Sam came out to meet you both, taking her sister from you and stumbling with her towards the door. In the distance, right over another hill, the sky was already beginning to lighten up a bit.

Right as both Carpenters reached the door, Tara stopped for a moment to turn back to you with a smile. "Thanks, babe," she said with a cheeky grin that was only half awake. You smiled back.

"You too, babe."

Sam rolled her eyes, pulling Tara through the door. It was a pleasant night, still with the same faint scent of rain oncoming. In your weird, newfound peace as you walked home yourself, you didn't see that Quinn was watching you from the upstairs window.

===+++===

so that was fun lmao. anyways there will be a part 3 but you and tara are kind of maybe friends now? now it's time for feelings 😈

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 8✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language, angst, fluff

Word Count: 7586

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

The afternoon sun was warm, casting a golden glow over the lake as you and Jody’s girls, Claire and Alex, lounged on the soft grass near the shore. The atmosphere was peaceful, with the sounds of birds chirping and the occasional splash of water breaking the silence. Sam and Jody were a little ways off, tending to the grill, while Dean lay beside you, seemingly asleep with his sunglasses shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight.

You were enjoying the tranquility, letting yourself relax. The gentle breeze coming off the lake was soothing, and the smell of the grill in the distance made your stomach rumble in anticipation of the meal to come.

Claire, who had been lying on her back staring up at the sky, suddenly rolled onto her side to face you. She glanced over at Dean, who remained still, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Satisfied that he wasn’t listening, she nudged you lightly with her elbow, a mischievous grin on her face.

“So”, Claire began, her tone conspiratorial, “Jody mentioned something about a guy named Jake. Care to share?”.

You felt your cheeks flush almost instantly at Claire’s question, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up your neck. Despite all the tough fronts you’d put up in the past, the topic of Jake had a way of breaking through that exterior. It wasn’t something you were used to—being vulnerable, especially not in front of the girls. But here you were, blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush, and it was impossible to hide.

“Uh, yeah”, you mumbled, trying to brush it off casually. “We’ve gone on a couple of dates. He’s nice”.

Claire’s grin widened, clearly enjoying this more than she should. “Just nice? Come on, you’re blushing! There’s gotta be more to it than just ‘nice'”.

Again, you tried to play it cool, shrugging your shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you could feel the heat in your cheeks giving you away. “Okay, maybe he’s more than just nice”, you admitted, a shy smile creeping onto your face. “He’s… really sweet, actually. And funny. We’ve only been out a few times, but I like him”.

Claire’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer. “Oh, I knew it! You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”.

You laughed softly. “I don’t know about that. I’m just… taking it slow. We’re still getting to know each other”.

“Taking it slow, huh?”, Claire teased, winking at you.

Claire's grin only widened, clearly enjoying the way you were squirming under her teasing. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially, though it was still loud enough for Dean to hear every word, not that she knew that. "So", she began, her tone dripping with playful curiosity, "have you guys… you know, gone down on each other yet?".

Your eyes widened in shock, and your face turned a deep shade of crimson. "Claire!", you exclaimed, barely able to keep your voice down. The question caught you completely off guard, and the embarrassment was almost overwhelming. You couldn’t believe she had just asked that, and in such a casual tone too.

Claire laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction. "What? It's a valid question!", she teased, nudging you again. "Come on, you can't tell me you haven’t thought about it".

You were at a complete loss for words, your thoughts spinning as you tried to figure out how to respond. You hadn’t expected the conversation to take such a turn, and now your mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts that you really didn’t want to be thinking about while lying here next to Dean, even if he seemed to be asleep.

Meanwhile, Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest, his mind reeling from what he had just overheard. Claire’s question had hit him like a punch to the gut, and he felt a surge of jealousy and protectiveness that he struggled to keep in check. The idea of you being that intimate with someone else, of sharing moments like that with Jake, made something primal stir inside him.

He forced himself to stay still, to keep his breathing steady, but it was difficult when his thoughts were running wild. He knew he had no right to feel this way, no right to be upset over something that was entirely your business, but that didn’t make it any easier. The feelings he had for you were a constant battle, one that he was losing more and more each day.

You, still flustered, managed to shake your head, trying to downplay the whole thing. “No, nothing like that”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re just… taking it slow, like I said”.

Claire raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, good for you”, she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Most guys aren’t exactly known for their patience”.

You just shrugged, still feeling the heat in your cheeks. “Jake’s different”, you replied softly, more to yourself than to Claire. “He’s not pushing for anything. It’s nice”.

Dean’s grip on his self-control tightened. He knew he couldn’t react, couldn’t give away that he was listening to every word, but the combination of your soft tone and the content of your conversation was tearing him apart inside. He had always known you deserved someone who would treat you right, someone who wouldn’t rush you or make you feel pressured. And as much as he hated to admit it, Jake sounded like he was that guy.

Claire gave you a knowing look, clearly satisfied with the information she’d gotten out of you. “Well, just make sure you’re doing what makes you happy”, she said with a wink. “And if you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me”.

You nodded, grateful for her support, even if her teasing had been a little too much for you to handle. “Thanks, Claire”, you murmured, your mind still racing with everything you’d just confessed.

Dean lay there, his heart still pounding, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions. He knew he needed to keep it together, to keep pretending he hadn’t heard a thing.

But deep down, despite the turmoil swirling in his mind, Dean couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief—a small, selfish comfort in knowing that you were still a virgin, that you hadn’t crossed that particular line with Jake. It was a complicated, messy feeling, one he didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone explore. But it was there, simmering beneath the surface, mingling with the guilt and the jealousy that had become his constant companions.

He knew it wasn’t right to feel this way. You were your own person, capable of making your own decisions, and you deserved to explore those parts of life on your terms. But the idea of you sharing something so intimate, so special, with someone else made his chest tighten. It was a possessive instinct that he didn’t like admitting to himself. Yet, as much as he tried to suppress it, the feeling was undeniable.

Dean remained perfectly still, feigning sleep as he continued to listen to the conversation between you and Claire. He knew it was wrong, that he should stop eavesdropping, but he couldn’t help himself. Every word you said gave him more insight into where your head was at, and even though it made him feel things he’d rather not feel, he couldn’t turn away from it.

You, on the other hand, were still trying to navigate the complicated emotions brought on by Claire’s teasing. The conversation had dredged up feelings you hadn’t fully processed, feelings about Jake, about Dean, about everything that had been happening lately. It was hard to make sense of it all, especially with Dean lying right there, so close yet so far away.

Part of you wanted to talk to him, to open up about the confusion and the tension that had been building between you. But another part of you was terrified of what that conversation might lead to. Dean was such a significant part of your life, and the idea of risking that connection, of possibly ruining it, was too much to bear.

So, you kept those feelings locked away, hidden behind a smile as you continued to chat with Claire. You didn’t notice the way Dean’s jaw clenched slightly, the way his breathing hitched just a little when the conversation turned to more innocent topics. To you, he was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that you were experiencing.

As the evening approached and the sky began to darken, the excitement in the air was palpable. You have decided to celebrate into your birthday. And even though the emotions of the past few days were still lingering in the back of your mind, you were determined to have a good time and enjoy the night.

It was now 10 PM, and you were in your room, sitting on the edge of the bed as Alex sat across from you, carefully working on your makeup. She had insisted on taking charge of getting you ready, declaring that you needed to look “absolutely stunning” for your birthday celebration. Claire, on the other hand, was leaning against the window frame, her arms crossed as she looked outside where Dean was grumbling about some bird having the audacity to leave a mess on his beloved Impala.

“Hold still”, Alex muttered as she carefully applied mascara to your lashes. “You’re going to be the center of attention tonight, and we’re not letting you go out there looking anything less than perfect”.

You chuckled, though you tried to stay as still as possible. “I appreciate the effort, Alex. I’m sure whatever you do will be great”.

Alex grinned, leaning back to admire her work before reaching for another makeup brush. “Trust me, you’re going to look amazing. And you’ll thank me when all the attention is on you tonight”.

Claire snorted softly, still looking out the window. “Looks like Dean’s having a rough time out there. He’s been complaining about that bird crap for the past ten minutes”.

You glanced toward the window, feeling a small pang of affection for Dean. Despite everything, there was something endearing about the way he fussed over his car. It was such a Dean thing to do.

“Well, it’s his baby”, you said with a smile, trying to keep the mood light. “Can’t have anything messing with his precious Impala”.

Claire rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Yeah, well, he’d better finish up soon if he’s planning on joining us tonight. Don’t want him to miss out on the fun”.

You nodded, your thoughts drifting back to the night ahead. Part of you was nervous, wondering how the evening would go, especially with everything that had been building up between you and Dean. But another part of you was excited—excited to celebrate, to let loose, and maybe even to see where the night would take you.

“Alright, done!”, Alex announced, snapping you back to the present. She stepped back, a satisfied grin on her face as she looked at you. “Go check yourself out in the mirror. I think you’ll like it”.

You stood up and walked over to the mirror, your breath catching slightly as you took in your reflection. Alex had done an incredible job—your makeup was flawless, enhancing your features without being overdone. You looked… beautiful, more so than you had expected. The sight of yourself made you feel more confident, more ready to take on whatever the night had in store.

“Wow”, you murmured, turning back to Alex with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Alex. I love it”.

Alex beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Told you. Now, let’s get you dressed and ready to party!”.

Claire finally turned away from the window, her own excitement shining through. “Yeah, come on. We’ve got to make sure you’re dressed to kill”.

After a few minutes of final touches and last-minute adjustments, you, Alex, and Claire were finally ready to head downstairs. The energy in the room was electric, with Claire and Alex fussing over every detail, making sure you looked perfect for your big night. Your nerves were still fluttering, but there was a sense of excitement building inside you.

As the three of you made your way down the hallway, you could hear the familiar voices of Jody and Sam drifting up from the bottom of the stairs. They were clearly eager to get the celebration started, and Jody’s voice carried a playful tone of impatience.

“Where the hell are you three?!”, Jody called up, her voice filled with mock frustration. “We’re ready to go down here, and you’re taking forever!”.

Sam’s deep chuckle followed. “Come on, ladies! The night’s not getting any younger!”.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you glanced down to see Jody and Sam standing at the base, both dressed casually but clearly ready to have a good time. Jody had her hands on her hips, her smile wide and teasing as she looked up at you.

But what caught your attention most was Dean, leaning casually against the doorframe of the living room, a bottle of beer in his hand. His usual confident demeanor was on full display, though you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you as you descended the stairs. The sunglasses he had been wearing earlier were gone, revealing the intense green of his gaze that seemed to follow your every move.

For a moment, you felt your breath catch in your throat. The way Dean was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine.

You could see a flicker of something in Dean’s eyes—admiration, perhaps even a hint of surprise—but he masked it quickly with a smirk, taking another sip of his beer as if to play it cool.

“Well”, Dean drawled, his voice smooth, carrying just the right amount of teasing to make you smile. “Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence”.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a mix of pride and nervousness at his attention. “I had to make sure I looked good enough for the birthday celebration”, you teased, your tone light.

Dean’s smirk softened into something warmer, something almost affectionate. “You don’t have to try that hard”, he said, his voice a little lower, more sincere. “You already look great”.

The compliment caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. Before you could respond, Jody clapped her hands together, breaking the moment.

“Alright, party people!”, she declared, her voice full of energy. “Let’s get moving before it gets too late. We’ve got a birthday to celebrate!”.

The group began to move toward the door, with Sam and Jody leading the way. Claire and Alex fell into step behind them, chattering excitedly about the night ahead. As you followed, Dean stayed close by your side, his presence a steady comfort amidst the buzz of anticipation.

The cool evening air greeted you as you stepped outside, and the sky was painted in deep shades of twilight. The stars were just beginning to peek through, promising a beautiful night. The lakehouse had a cozy, rustic charm that made it the perfect place for a celebration, and as you all made your way down to the lake, you could feel the excitement building.

As the group made their way around the lake, the soft glow of lanterns strung along the path provided just enough light to guide your steps. The sound of the water gently lapping against the shore added to the serene atmosphere, making the walk feel almost magical. The conversation among your friends was lively, filled with laughter and playful banter, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit distracted, your thoughts constantly drifting back to the way Dean had looked at you earlier.

Dean walked beside you, his usual walk slightly tempered by the five beers he’d already downed throughout the evening. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, but there was a hint of something in his demeanor—something almost vulnerable, though he was doing his best to mask it. His steps were steady, but his gaze occasionally flickered to you, as if he was trying to find the right moment to say something.

The lake bar was just coming into view when Dean finally broke the silence between you. He cleared his throat, and you glanced over at him just in time to see him rub the back of his neck—a telltale sign that he was nervous, or at least a little unsure of himself.

“You look great”, he said, his voice lower than usual, and there was an unmistakable sincerity in his tone that made your heart skip a beat. You could tell he meant it, and the fact that he was flustered only made the compliment feel more genuine.

You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, Dean”, you replied softly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light.

Just as you felt the warmth of Dean’s words sink in, the group reached the entrance of the lake bar. The sound of music and chatter spilled out from inside, a lively backdrop to the evening’s celebration. Claire, always quick to spot the best spot in any place, was already waving everyone over to a cozy booth near the back of the bar. The booth was tucked away slightly, offering a bit of privacy while still keeping you in the midst of the action.

“Over here!”, Claire called out, her enthusiasm contagious as she motioned for everyone to join her. The group eagerly followed her lead, sliding into the booth with a mix of excitement and anticipation for the night ahead.

As you and Dean approached the booth, you noticed the slight hesitation in his step, as if he was reluctant to let go of the moment you’d just shared. But with the group now gathering around, the chance for further conversation was quickly slipping away.

You slid into the booth, taking a seat near the end where you had a clear view of the bar and the rest of the room. Dean sat down next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he got comfortable. The brief contact sent a shiver down your spine.

Jody and Sam were the last to join, Sam carrying a tray of drinks he had grabbed from the bar on the way over. He set it down with a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Alright, who’s ready to kick off this birthday celebration?”.

The table erupted in cheers and clinks of glasses as everyone grabbed a drink.

As the glasses clinked together in celebration, Sam leaned in toward you, his grin wide and playful. “Today’s an exception”, he said with a wink, nodding toward the drink in your hand. “You’re not quite 21 yet, but I think we can bend the rules just this once”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Sam’s playful tone. “You’re such a rebel”, you teased, raising your glass in acknowledgment. The warmth of the alcohol was a welcome addition to the already buzzing atmosphere, and you were grateful for the way everyone had come together to make this night special for you.

Jody raised her glass again, her eyes twinkling as she glanced around the table. “Here’s to bending the rules and making the most of the night. Happy early birthday, (Y/N)!”.

Everyone echoed the toast, and you felt a surge of happiness as you took a sip of your drink. The music from the bar pulsed in the background, a mix of classic rock and upbeat tunes that added to the lively energy of the place. You leaned back against the booth, feeling the pleasant buzz from the alcohol and the warmth of your friends around you.

Dean, sitting beside you, took a long drink from his beer, his eyes glancing over at you every so often. You could sense he was more relaxed now, the tension from earlier having faded into the background as the night unfolded. There was a comfortable closeness between you, the kind that had been growing for a while now, even if neither of you had fully acknowledged it.

After a few rounds of drinks, the conversation at the table became more animated, with laughter and stories flowing freely. Claire and Alex were sharing funny anecdotes from recent hunts, while Sam and Jody added their own tales, making everyone at the table burst into laughter. You felt a deep sense of belonging in that moment, surrounded by people who truly cared about you.

As the night went on, the bar became more crowded, and the music grew louder. Claire and Alex, now tipsy and full of energy, insisted on dragging you onto the dance floor. You protested half-heartedly, but their enthusiasm was infectious, and soon you found yourself in the middle of the crowd, moving to the rhythm of the music.

Dean watched you from the booth, a small smile playing on his lips as he observed you laughing and dancing with the girls. He felt a mix of emotions—pride, protectiveness, and something deeper. The sight of you, so full of life and joy, was both heartwarming and a little bittersweet, knowing that things between you were shifting in ways he couldn’t fully control.

Dean was still nursing his beer, his eyes occasionally drifting from the crowd of dancers back to you as you moved on the dance floor with Claire and Alex. He was trying to keep his emotions in check, but it wasn’t easy. Watching you laugh and dance, seeing how much you’d grown up—it was a lot for him to process.

Just then, Sam slid into the booth next to Dean, a knowing smile on his face. He nudged Dean with his elbow, drawing his brother’s attention away from the dance floor. Jody had gone to grab another round of drinks, leaving the two of them alone at the table for a moment.

“So”, Sam started, his tone light but with a hint of seriousness underneath, “you finally coming to terms with (Y/N) being an adult now?”.

Dean shot his brother a sidelong glance, recognizing the question for what it was. He knew Sam had noticed the shift in his behavior around you, the way he’d been more protective, more cautious, ever since you’d started spending time with Jake. But this was the first time Sam had directly brought it up.

Dean sighed, taking a long sip of his beer before answering. “It’s not easy, man”, he admitted, his voice low enough that only Sam could hear. “I’ve watched her grow up, you know? She’s not a kid anymore, and I get that, but… it’s hard to see her differently”.

Sam nodded, his expression understanding. “Yeah, I get it. It’s tough letting go of the way you’ve always seen someone, especially when you’ve been like a big brother to her”.

Dean nodded, but the truth was, it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just about being a big brother, or the protective instinct that had always driven him to keep you safe. It was something more.

“Do you think she’s ready?”, Dean asked, glancing back at Sam. “For all of it—being on her own, making her own choices?”.

Sam smiled slightly. “She’s tougher than you think, Dean. And yeah, I think she’s ready. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still need you. Just… maybe in a different way now”.

Dean sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I know. It’s just… I want her to be happy, but I also want to make sure she’s safe. It’s hard to balance that”.

Sam gave his brother a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’ve always been there for her, Dean. And she knows that. Just keep being there for her, in whatever way she needs. That’s all you can do”.

Dean nodded, his eyes drifting back to you as you continued to dance, your laughter echoing across the bar. “Yeah”, he murmured, more to himself than to Sam. “I guess you’re right”.

Sam watched his brother for a moment longer, sensing the conflict still brewing within him, but deciding not to push further. He knew Dean would come to terms with it in his own time, in his own way. For now, it was enough that Dean was acknowledging the change, even if he wasn’t fully ready to accept it.

Jody returned to the table with another round of drinks, her timing impeccable as always. She handed Dean a fresh beer and gave Sam a curious look, clearly sensing the seriousness of their conversation.

“Everything okay over here?”, she asked, raising an eyebrow as she slid back into the booth.

Dean forced a smile, accepting the beer with a nod. “Yeah, just talking about how much trouble we’re all gonna be in if (Y/N) keeps drinking like that”, he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Jody chuckled, her gaze drifting to you on the dance floor. “She’s having a good time. That’s what tonight’s about, right?”.

Dean’s smile softened as he watched you laugh and dance with your friends. “Yeah”, he agreed, lifting his beer in a quiet toast. “That’s what it’s all about”.

As the clock struck midnight, everyone in the bar raised their glasses in a boisterous toast to you. The atmosphere was electric with laughter, cheers, and the clinking of glasses. Dean was especially laid-back, the alcohol loosening him up as he joined in the celebration with a genuine smile. The weight of the past few weeks seemed to lift off his shoulders, if only temporarily. Despite the attention from a few women who seemed interested in him throughout the night, Dean politely declined their advances, his focus remaining on the celebration and, more subtly, on you.

The night continued with more drinks, more dancing, and more laughter. But around 1 AM, you decided to step away for a moment and head to the bathroom. The bar was still buzzing with energy, but you needed a brief break from the noise and excitement. As you reached for your phone to check the time, you noticed a notification from Jake. Smiling to yourself, you assumed he was wishing you a happy birthday. But as you opened the message, the smile quickly faded.

Jake’s message wasn’t what you had expected. Instead of birthday wishes, it was a carefully worded explanation that he had gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend. He was gentle in his words, expressing his apologies and hoping you could understand. But no matter how softly he tried to put it, the news hit you hard. The excitement and joy of the night evaporated in an instant, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest.

You stood there in the bathroom, staring at the message as the reality of it sank in. You had liked Jake, had started to imagine what could have been, and now it was over before it had even really begun. The rejection, even though it was handled kindly, still hurt. It made you feel foolish for getting your hopes up, for thinking that maybe this time, things could work out.

Suddenly, the thought of going back to the party, of pretending to be happy and carefree, felt impossible. The celebration that had seemed so fun just moments ago now felt overwhelming and hollow. You didn’t want to go back out there with this weight in your heart, didn’t want to face everyone with this new pain fresh in your mind.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears that had been threatening to fall finally broke through. You quickly wiped them away, not wanting to smudge your makeup or let anyone see how upset you were. But no matter how hard you tried to push it down, the sadness lingered.

After a few moments of trying to collect yourself, you knew you couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever. But the idea of going back out there, of pretending everything was fine, was too much. You needed space, needed to be alone for a little while to process what had just happened.

As you made your way back outside, the alcohol still buzzed in your system, but it did little to dull the sharp sting of Jake’s message. The noise and energy of the bar seemed distant, like you were moving through a fog. All you could think about was getting out of there, away from the crowd, and finding some place quiet where you could process what had just happened.

Dean had been keeping an eye on you throughout the night, more out of habit than anything else. But the moment you reappeared, he could tell something was wrong. Even from across the room, he noticed the way your shoulders slumped, the tightness in your smile that didn’t reach your eyes. The easygoing, celebratory mood he’d been in vanished instantly, replaced by a familiar concern.

He got up from his seat without hesitation, weaving through the crowd until he reached you. The closer he got, the more certain he became that something was off. He thought maybe the alcohol had hit you too hard or that you were feeling sick.

“Hey”, he said gently, his hand resting on your arm as he looked into your eyes, searching for answers. “You alright? You don’t look so good. Do you need some fresh air, or…?”.

You forced a tight smile, trying to hold it together. “I’m just tired”, you replied, your voice not quite steady. “I think I want to go home, but the rest of you should stay here and have fun”.

Dean frowned, not convinced. He knew you better than that. There was more going on—he could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice—but he also knew better than to push you when you weren’t ready to talk. He nodded, understanding that you needed to get out of there, even if you weren’t ready to explain why.

“Alright”, he said softly. “I’ll walk you back. Let’s get you home”.

You started to protest, telling him that he didn’t need to leave the party, that he should stay and enjoy himself. But Dean shook his head, his decision already made. “No way I’m letting you walk back alone. Besides, I’m ready to call it a night too”.

He guided you back to the booth where the others were still laughing and talking, their attention focused on each other and not noticing the shift in your mood. Dean gave them a quick nod, signaling that he was taking you home.

“I’m gonna bring her back to the lake house”, Dean said, his tone casual but firm. “You guys stay and have fun. We’ll catch up with you later”.

Jody looked over, noticing the change in your demeanor, but she didn’t ask any questions. She trusted Dean to take care of you. Sam raised his glass in a small salute, and Claire and Alex gave you encouraging smiles, wishing you a good night.

You appreciated their understanding, but all you wanted was to be out of the bar, away from the noise and the reminders of what had just happened.

Dean kept a steady hand on your back as the two of you made your way out of the bar and into the cool night air. The walk back to the lake house was quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. Dean didn’t say anything, didn’t push you to talk, but his presence was a comfort, a steady anchor as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

When you reached the house, Dean unlocked the door and led you inside. The warmth of the house wrapped around you, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in your chest. You were grateful for the silence, for the space to breathe without the weight of the party pressing down on you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, Dean finally asked, his voice low.

You shook your head at Dean’s question, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Instead, you slipped out of your shoes and made a beeline for the kitchen, where you knew Dean’s stash of whiskey was kept on the counter. The alcohol you’d already had was making you feel a little unsteady, but you were still too sober for the flood of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm you. You needed something stronger to dull the ache in your chest, something to push away the thoughts of Jake and what could have been.

But just as your fingers wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle, Dean was there. He had followed you, his concern growing with every step, and when he saw what you were about to do, he quickly snatched the bottle from your hand.

“No fucking way”, he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of worry and determination. “You’re already tipsy, and this isn’t the way to handle whatever’s going on”.

You glared at him, your emotions bubbling over. “Dean, come on. Just one drink. Join me. It’s my birthday, and I just… I just need this right now”.

Dean softened slightly at your words but didn’t relent. He could see how much you were hurting, and the last thing he wanted was for you to drown your pain in alcohol. He knew how that path could go, and he wasn’t about to let you spiral down it.

He shook his head again, more gently this time. “You don’t need this, (Y/N). Not like this. Let’s talk, or if you don’t want to talk, let’s just… be here, okay? But no more drinking tonight”.

You could feel the tears welling up again, the mix of frustration, sadness, and the tenderness in Dean’s voice almost too much to bear. “I don’t want to talk about it”, you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

Dean set the bottle down on the counter, stepping closer to you. He reached out, his hands resting on your shoulders, grounding you in the moment. “Alright”, he said quietly, his voice soothing. “Then we won’t talk about it. But I’m not letting you do this alone. Let’s go sit down, okay?”.

You wanted to argue, to push him away, but the warmth of his hands on your shoulders and the quiet strength in his voice made it impossible. You nodded, letting out a shaky breath as he guided you to the living room.

Dean sat down next to you on the couch, close but not crowding you, offering silent support. The house was quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves outside, and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather a space where you could both exist without the need for words.

You leaned back against the couch, closing your eyes and letting the exhaustion of the day and the emotions of the night wash over you. Dean remained by your side, a steady presence that gave you comfort even when your thoughts were stormy.

Minutes passed, the two of you sitting there in silence, and slowly, you began to feel a little more at ease.

As you leaned back against the couch, the weight of the night seemed to press down on you all at once. The quiet of the house, combined with the steady warmth of Dean’s presence beside you, started to lull you into a sense of calm you hadn’t felt all night. Your eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, you just focused on the sound of Dean’s breathing next to you, the rhythm of it steady and reassuring.

Dean watched you, his concern deepening as he saw the exhaustion etched into your features. He could tell you were fighting to stay awake, to hold onto whatever it was that was eating at you, but he also knew that you were reaching your limit. He didn’t say anything, didn’t push for you to talk, just remained close, offering the comfort of his presence.

As the minutes passed, the tension in your body began to ease, your breathing slowing as you finally allowed yourself to relax. Before you even realized it, the exhaustion won out, and you drifted off to sleep right there on the couch.

Dean noticed the exact moment you fell asleep—the way your body went completely slack, your breathing deepening into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. He stayed still, not wanting to disturb you, but his eyes remained on your face, softening as he watched the tension slowly melt away from your features.

For a long while, he simply sat there, listening to the quiet of the house and the sound of your breathing.

Dean had sat beside you for what felt like hours, content to watch over you as you slept. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but as the night grew deeper, he knew he couldn’t let you sleep on the couch all night.

With a soft sigh, Dean carefully shifted, trying not to wake you as he stood up. He hesitated for a moment, then bent down and gently cradled you in his arms, lifting you with surprising ease. Your head rested against his chest, and he could feel the soft, even rhythm of your breathing against him. Despite everything, a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at your sleeping face.

“Fucking lightweight”, he mumbled under his breath, a mix of affection and exasperation in his tone. But there was no real annoyance there.

He carried you upstairs with a careful, steady stride, trying his best not to jostle you awake. But as he reached your room and laid you down gently on the bed, your eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep. Your hand instinctively reached out, grabbing his wrist, your grip surprisingly firm for someone who had been so deeply asleep just moments before.

“Stay”, you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, thick with sleep and emotion. Your eyes were wide and glassy, filled with a vulnerability that made Dean’s heart clench. The look in your eyes, the way you were holding onto him, was almost too much to bear.

Dean grimaced, knowing that this was a bad idea—a very bad idea. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to step back, to leave you to sleep on your own and let the night end here. But the way you were looking at him, the soft plea in your voice, made it nearly impossible for him to pull away. He knew you were hurting, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse by leaving you alone.

“(Y/N)…”, he began, his voice low and conflicted, trying to find the right words. “I don’t think—”.

But before he could finish, your eyes filled with tears, the glassiness deepening into something more desperate. The sight of you like this, so vulnerable and pleading, shattered what little resolve he had left.

“Please”, you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. “Just for a little while”.

Dean cursed under his breath, feeling his defenses crumbling. He knew this was a bad idea—knew that staying would only blur the lines between you even more, making everything more complicated. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away, not when you needed him like this.

“Alright", he finally conceded, his voice barely more than a gruff whisper. “Just for a little while”.

You nodded, relief flooding your features as you loosened your grip on his wrist, allowing him to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. He stayed there for a moment, just watching you as you curled up under the covers, your eyes already beginning to drift shut again.

Dean hesitated, then slowly kicked off his boots and moved to lie down beside you, keeping a careful distance between you. He was hyper-aware of the space between you, the way your presence seemed to fill the entire room, but he forced himself to relax, to focus on just being there for you.

You shifted closer to him, seeking out his warmth, and for a moment, Dean froze, unsure of what to do. But then you nestled your head against his shoulder, your hand resting lightly on his chest, and he felt the tension in his body start to ease, just a little.

“Thank you”, you mumbled.

Dean didn’t reply, couldn’t trust his voice to come out steady. Instead, he just wrapped an arm around you, holding you close.

As you nestled closer to Dean, your initial exhaustion started to ebb away, replaced by a growing awareness of the situation. The warmth of his arm around you, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand—it all felt so comforting, yet it also sent your heart into overdrive. The closeness, the intimacy of the moment, was something you hadn’t fully anticipated, and now, with Dean’s presence so tangible beside you, sleep seemed like a distant possibility.

Your mind was racing, despite the physical fatigue that still lingered. Every breath you took seemed to sync with his. It was almost overwhelming, the way your senses were suddenly heightened, every touch and sound magnified in the quiet darkness of the room.

Dean, on the other hand, was trying his best to remain still, to keep his breathing even and not give away the turmoil in his own mind. He could feel your heartbeat quicken against his chest, and it took everything in him not to react, not to let on just how much this moment was affecting him. He wanted to be strong for you, to be the rock you needed, but the way you were clinging to him, the way your body molded so perfectly to his, made it incredibly difficult to keep his emotions in check.

He knew he should move, should put some distance between you before things got even more complicated. But every time he considered it, you seemed to press closer, and his resolve would falter. There was something about the way you were holding onto him, the way you seemed to need him in that moment, that made it impossible for him to pull away.

You shifted slightly, your hand sliding up just a bit, and Dean could feel the heat of your palm through the thin material of his shirt. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, a mix of desire and guilt swirling in his chest. He cursed himself silently, knowing this was dangerous territory, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the connection.

“Dean…”, you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet room. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say, but his name seemed to slip out on its own, a soft plea that hung in the air between you.

Dean’s breath hitched slightly, and he tightened his arm around you, pulling you just a fraction closer. “I’m here”, he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere”.

Your heart raced even faster at his words, the reassurance both comforting and overwhelming. The night had taken a toll on you, emotionally and physically, but now, with Dean so close, with his voice so full of unspoken promises, you felt a confusing mix of emotions bubbling to the surface—gratitude, affection.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of the sheets as you shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. But no matter how you moved, the awareness of Dean’s presence was impossible to ignore, and the thought of sleep felt more and more distant.

The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, the silence in the room thick with the unspoken tension between you and Dean. You could feel his arm still holding you close, the weight of his presence both comforting and overwhelming at the same time. Your heart continued to race, your thoughts a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn’t quite keep in check.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 9

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @lachelledavies-winchester @kamisobsessed @kr804573 @c1gs-coffee @fyegyall

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ when you tell them to stop doing what they are doing in a harsh way (but you didn't mean it) - RIIZE

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre angst, fluff pairing riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

You knew how much Shotaro loved taking pictures and videos of every moment, and normally, it didn’t bother you since you also loved having those memories captured. But that day, you were overstimulated and not feeling confident, and even though you had told Shotaro several times that you didn’t want him to take pictures of you that day, he kept pulling out his camera and snapping shots occasionally. At first, you tried to be patient, but eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop, Shotaro?"

Your words came out much harsher than you intended, and Shotaro looked at you, confused and a little disheartened.

"I’m sorry, it’s just… you looked really pretty."

Seeing how his smile had faded, you realized how harsh your words had sounded, and you regretted them immediately.

"No, I’m sorry, Taro… I’m just stressed, and… I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m really sorry."

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

You were at Eunseok’s place, having your usual video game night like almost every weekend. You two often played multiplayer games you’d find or just stuck to your favorites, and it was always a fun time. Eunseok could sometimes be a bit competitive and proud when playing, but it usually didn’t bother you. However, that day, you had a lot on your mind. The playful teasing that Eunseok usually did whenever he won wasn’t sitting well with you that time, and you couldn’t hold back.

"And like always, I won."

"Can you stop, Eunseok? There’s no need to rub it in every time you win."

Your words brought an awkward silence to the room. After a few seconds, you regretted what you’d said. You glanced at Eunseok, who looked confused by your reaction and just let out a small sigh as he looked back at the screen.

"Sorry, y/n, I just..."

"No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just that... I don’t know, I’ve got too much on my mind."

"It’s okay... Do you want to stop playing and talk about it?"

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

"Oh God, Sungchan, stop already..."

You said as you pushed Sungchan’s hand off your body. Sungchan loved skinship, and so did you. You loved how his large hands would rest on your body, especially on your hips, pulling you closer to him. But at that moment, there were too many people around, too much noise, and all you wanted was to escape the crowd and get home. As you rushed through the crowd, Sungchan placed his hand on your shoulder, and you reacted sharply.

Sungchan looked confused by your tone, and he didn’t speak for the rest of the walk home, not even when the crowd thinned out. He was clearly down, as he’d only been trying to help. When you got home and saw his mood, you started feeling guilty. You didn’t want to react that way. You approached him while he was drinking water in the kitchen and gently placed your hand on his cheek, making him look at you.

"I’m really sorry about earlier… I was just so stressed with all those people, and… I didn’t mean what I said."

Sungchan’s expression softened completely when he heard you, letting out a small sigh of relief as he smiled.

"Thank goodness… I thought you were really mad at me."

ᯓ★ WONBIN

Everyone knows how Wonbin gets when things aren’t going well in a game or when he’s losing. Unless he’s winning, he’s always complaining, saying the game isn’t fun, and wanting to switch to something else. It was something everyone found funny, seeing his mood change based on how the game was going. Most of the time, you laughed along, but for some reason, that day, Wonbin was being extra negative and whiny while you were showing him a game you loved. He kept saying he didn’t want to play anymore, even though he knew how much you liked that game.

"Can you stop complaining, Wonbin? It’s getting a bit much."

Wonbin’s eyes widened in disbelief. You had never spoken to him like that, and it clearly upset him a bit.

"Fine, I won’t say anything then," he muttered as he continued playing.

The silence that followed lasted a few minutes, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how harsh your words had sounded and how you could’ve said it differently. The regret kept growing.

"I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have said it like that."

"It’s okay. I’m sorry for acting that way… I just don’t get how you’re so good at this game and I’m so bad," he murmured, letting out a small laugh.

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

You loved being in Seunghan’s arms, cuddling on the couch or in bed while watching a series together. It was always a peaceful time when you didn’t have to worry about anything else, just you and Seunghan, together. But that day, for some reason, Seunghan was in a playful mood and kept tickling you. You were pretty sensitive to tickles, and even the slightest touch on your skin made you squirm. You didn’t really like being tickled, and even though you were laughing, at a certain point, you couldn’t take it anymore.

"Seunghan, stop, or I swear…!" you shouted, pulling away from him.

"Whoa… okay, sorry," he mumbled, looking a little disheartened.

You looked at him for a few seconds, realizing that what you’d said wasn’t fair, so you quickly moved closer to him again.

"No, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m too sensitive."

"It’s okay, baby. I should’ve stopped the first time you asked," he murmured with a shrug before opening his arms for you once again.

ᯓ★ SOHEE

Your final exams were approaching, and you were incredibly stressed. You were juggling classes, work, and studying, leaving you with very few hours of study time each day. The only good part was that during work, you could spend some time with Sohee, which helped you relax a little, though your mind was still constantly on your exams, rehearsing the material while you worked. At one point, while you were both preparing an order, Sohee murmured to you:

"Hey… How about you come over to my place tonight?"

"I can’t, Sohee. You know I need to study."

"I know, but… one night won’t hurt. You can relax and—"

"Sohee, stop. Don’t push it. I can’t, that’s it," you said, looking him seriously in the eyes.

You grabbed the tray and went to deliver it to the table, leaving Sohee standing there, frozen, unsure of what had just happened. You both worked the rest of the shift in silence, just doing your jobs. When it was time to leave, you walked over to Sohee and gently grabbed his arm, making him look at you.

"I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way…"

"It’s okay, y/n, I know how stressed you are. I shouldn’t have said anything."

"But… I do want to come over. It might actually help me clear my head."

Sohee’s eyes lit up when he heard you, and he took your hand with a smile as you walked toward his apartment.

ᯓ★ ANTON

You and Anton had been friends for as long as you could remember. You had always gone to the same school, high school, and now university. He had always been pretty protective of you, but you’d never really noticed it until this time. The university had organized a welcome party for the new students, and you were excited to go. You’d never been to a party before, so you were looking forward to it. But when you told Anton with a smile, that excitement quickly vanished.

"You’re not going to that party, are you?"

"Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?"

"It could be dangerous. You don’t know what people might want from you."

"But I’ll be careful, Anton. Besides…"

"No, I don’t want you to go."

You were stunned by his response. You couldn’t help but clench your fist in frustration. Why was he acting this way?

"Stop telling me what to do all the time, Anton. You’re not in control of my life."

You both stood in silence, staring at each other seriously for a few seconds. You had both said things that hurt each other, but you’d known each other long enough to realize it was wrong to talk like that without reason. After a moment, you both spoke at the same time.

"I’m sorry, I just…"

"I’m sorry, y/n."

You both laughed instantly, surprised you had said the same thing, and the tension melted away as you laughed at the situation.

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist

taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori

@enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa @layluv123

@sunflowers1610 @nctrawberries

[habken]

Izuku and Katsuki Hospital Comic - Thoughts and Process

I wanted to talk about the process and my thoughts while making this comic! Cause it was A Lot of planning and I feel like talking about how I went about it could maybe be helpful for other people who wanna make comics too ?

Also I just like talking and I've had So Many thoughts about it over the last few months, I just need to get them all out lol

everything is under the cut (it's Very Long) ↓↓↓

Initial Thoughts

I started planning the comic in January, around the time the chapter with the second user's plan to transfer ofa to shigaraki came out. I remember feeling so anxious and sad seeing how devastated Deku was to lose the 'gift' that All Might had passed to him :'((

It made me start thinking about what it would be like to not only go from having all this insane power at your fingertips back to nothing, but also how it would feel to lose the vestiges, which had been his advisers, yapping in his ear and keeping him company for months. How it would feel to go from constantly having people looking over your shoulder back to silence.

Then I thought about what that would mean for his and Bakugou's relationship, which has developed so much over the series. How Bakugou would feel about Deku no longer having ofa, how the two of them would wrestle with old feelings now that Deku would be quirkless again. Bakugou having to face the kid he bullied and Deku going back to a state where the world saw him as "useless" with dreams too big for somebody without a quirk.

I feel like sometimes it's not really taken into account how Deku's past affects him in the present, and that goes for in the actual series as well. Considering he's the main character, it's funny that we never really get too much of a peak inside his mind lol, especially not recently, which is most likely intentional, but I digress.

What I really wanted to do for this comic was circle back to Deku's question to All Might at the start of the series, "can I become a hero without a quirk" because while yes, deku can be a hero, he had to get a quirk to do so. So what happens now that he no longer has it? After all of Bakugou and Deku's development, would Bakugou's opinion on deku pursuing his dreams while quirkless change?

I really didn't want that answer to be no. I didn't want to believe that Deku would have to give up and "be realistic" again, it just didn't feel right for that to be the answer after 400 chapters.

So I wanted to make something that would encapsulate those thoughts! And I felt like the best way to fully get that out was through a scene in the aftermath of the battle, the two of them in the hospital with nothing to do but talk about their feelings.

It was important to me that the doubts they both felt about the future were stomped out, and for there to be reassurance that things between them wouldn't snap back to how it was before UA. That Deku could still reach his dreams even if they did become harder to obtain.

I also felt like narratively it would be a good parallel if Bakugou were to lose something tied to his power too, and with his arm being so bad off in canon, I thought it made sense that there was a chance he could lose it forever.

So it's like they're both coming out of the final battle worse off with huge losses, but no matter what, they're going to fight to achieve their dreams, and they're going to do it side by side :')

At its core, it’s very self indulgent lmao, I didn’t think that we’d get something that sappy and gross in canon (😳) so I wanted to make something for myself :')

Planning

So then I made a first draft!

When I’m making bigger comics, thumbnails are super helpful! They help me see the full picture of what it could look like, and let me change things without putting in too much commitment. So most of the drawings are loose, but occasionally I’ll put in a little extra detail into things that I want to make sure are included in the final work.

There’s three main things I consider when thumbnailing for comics; expression, composition, and dialogue. Each of these things have a huge influence on each other, so keeping them all in mind when roughing out your drawings is important!

How it usually works is I play out the scene in my head like a movie and roughly come up with dialogue, then I draw characters and expressions based on that dialogue and the visions I had. Simultaneously I plan out approximately where those drawings will go/how much space they'll take up and finally, I add in the dialogue and move things around as needed so everything fits nice together.

Having the dialogue there in the draft lets me know around how big the speech bubbles are gonna be which is a massive help when figuring out paneling. It lets me plan around the bubbles and make sure nothing is too squished!

General tips:

Something I learnt from storyboarding is that establishing a setting for your scene at the start is really important! Most of my comics will start with a long shot or include one early on for this reason. It’s good for making sure readers aren’t confused on where everything is taking place!

Having a variety of shots is good for keeping your story engaging! This comic has a lot of closeups, but I tried to add variety where I could and used a lot of different angles to keep things entertaining even if there isn't that much going on

Final thoughts on this draft:

At this stage, the ending was really different from the final version I ended up with. It was a lot more focused on Bakugou's losses too and the vibe was kinda "well we're both nerfed now but that's chill we can still be heroes." I axed most of that cause I thought it was dumb and wasn’t really the conclusion I wanted lol

After the rough draft, I started sketching everything out and adding in panels based on the composition from the og thumbnails. I also changed the dialogue as I went, focusing on making it sound more natural and easy to read.

This is where the nuances in movement and expression became a bit more refined and speech bubbles where better planned out.

At this stage, establishing clarity and imagining how readers are going to move their eye along the page is really important. Comics are generally read left to right, but you can’t just assume people are going to automatically read it in the order you want, which is why panels and speech bubble locations are so important.

Tips:

A general rule is that along with going from left to right, speech bubbles should be in descending order. This can be broken a bit, but it’s important to remember that the rule is there in the first place for clarity's sake. So if you do plan on breaking it, make sure it's not at the sacrifice of legibility. The human eye is lazy and will jump to whatever seems most logical, so planning things out in a confusing manner is going to make your comic hard to read!

This is another thing I picked up from storyboarding, but keeping in mind the 180° rule is good for clarity as well! In the simplest of terms, if you have two characters in a scene, it’s good to keep character A on one side and character B on the other, and not switch those sides willy-nilly, otherwise it can get confusing. This isn't as important in comics as it is in film/television, but I still like keeping it in mind.

Final thoughts:

I hated the original ending but I couldn't exactly figure out how I wanted it to go, and I was too busy at that point to dedicate the time I needed towards it, so it stayed as these four panels for while :’)

During the period I stopped working on it, Deku lost his arms which had me panicking lmao, so much of the comic was devoted to his emotions and body language, specifically in his hands. I just went "am I gonna have to redo everything? Do I give him prosthetics?" and I was fully ready to rework the entire thing but Eri came in clutch for Deku (and me) <3

After Deku started getting hurt, I didn't really like the idea of him being discharged and sitting with a still injured Katsuki, and wanted it to be clear that they were both still in the hospital, so I had to axe poor Deku's "hospital gown" shirt for actual hospital garb </3

At some point during april-ish, I finally added in a new beginning and end, which took the comic from four pages to seven. I felt like the new parts added a lot more levity and humour which were needed, and I think it helped make Izuku and Katsuki feel closer than before.

For these pages, I skipped the thumbnail stage and jumped straight into full page stuff, which felt easier because they were kind of just add-ons.

Something I specifically liked were the first two panels in the last page. Fun fact, but a few days after I sketched those out, horikoshi released that art of to two of them smiling together and I went !! That's the vibe I wanted !! Me and Horikoshi are on the same wavelength! That was a good day lmao.

At this point, though, while new parts added a lot more to the story and brought it closer to the vibe I wanted, they also messed with the tone and overall pacing and it ended up feeling really off. Deku was now doing this weird 180 from being super sad and upset to then immediately joking around and goofing off with no acknowledgement of anything Katsuki was saying, which had been fine enough when it was just 4 panels, but very off-putting once I made the comic longer

...So I decided to add even more panels :')

I went back to my original ideas, and part of what I wanted to get across originally was the doubts about Izuku's future from here on out, and the worry that things would go back to how they were before he got ofa. I realized those initial things which had fueled the comic were no longer really part of it, and I wanted to change that.

When I thought up the idea of visuals surrounding their middle school selves, I felt so smart LMAO. I think it ended up being the thing that brought the entire comic together.

Izuku reverting back to that anxious, unconfident state, spiralling into himself, and mumbling out all his insecurities, including his fears about losing Katsuki's friendship (and yet still somehow more worried about Katsuki's feelings than his own). And in turn, Katsuki remembering and seeing Izuku as that kid again, and his own fears of becoming a bully once more.

It better explored what I wanted to originally get across and delved more into their feelings, so that the jokes and levity at the end felt like they were earned, rather than being a rapid shift in tone.

(The only other thing that changed was the some of the panels in the first page. I changed up the speech bubbles and got rid of a panel so it would be less cramped and easier to read.)

At this point, I was still having trouble figuring out how to tie everything in and segway pages 6-7 into the ending organically, so it sat like this for around a month.

Then chapter 423 released and the battle was over and I realized how little time I actually had to get the comic out. I knew that the next chapter could possibly make my entire comic obsolete, so I hauled ass :D

These were the final plans before I cleaned everything up! I changed around some of the panels to make the story flow better, I figured out how to tie everything in, and I finalized the dialogue!

At this point all the panelling was redone because I wanted more space in between them. Before, it felt really cramped and I think adding in more breathing room made it feel slightly less overwhelming for readers.

The biggest changes from the previous draft:

First, obviously, I finished the middle school stuff and figured out how to get from one part to the next. This was the hardest part of the planning, but I ended up deciding that Deku would spiral, Bakugou would kind of bring him out of that, they'd hug and then Bakugou would reassure him. I also included motifs relating to their childhood to be reminiscent of The Apology, and Katsuki's thoughts going back to them sharing the special All Might cards, them at the lake, etc. As if this was another healing moment for each part of them; their current selves, their MS selves, and their childhood selves too

I then changed some of the panels in the first page. I switched the direction of the diagonal line in the first few panels because I thought it made it more clear which way to start reading and made the comic flow better.

In the fourth page, I added a panel after Deku starts crying, because I felt like it worked better with the dialogue, and brought in more of Katsuki's POV into the story

The sixth page doesn't really look different, but there was a lot of resizing going on panel-wise. The bottom panel doesn't take up as much space and the panels up top are a little bigger

The final big change was the eighth page. I added in an extra panel and changed up a lot of expressions/dialogue so there was more of a natural transition between the heartfelt moments and the two goofing off

I then made some final changes and drawover notes before I started a week of cleanup and colouring!

Cleanup/Colouring Stage

Cleaning up my sketches usually just means duplicating the layer, putting the original layer at 5% opacity and.. cleaning it until it looks nice lol. It's the easiest way for me to work because I hate doing lineart.

This is what my sketch vs final usually looks like. The biggest change was adding in bandages into all the drawings lol.

For speech bubbles, I drew them all by hand, created a flat colour layer underneath in white, duplicated that and filled it in with black and shifted it with the transformation tool to make a drop shadow effect.

It took me two days to colour the whole thing :')

Usually when I colour, I work in a pretty painterly way, but I thought flats/cell shading would be a lot faster for this. I was right but it still took Very Long.

The smartest thing I did was put colour swatches of each colour I was using on a separate layer above everything else so I could easily use the eyedropper and get the right colour without having to reference them from another page. It was a big time saver!

I colour all on a single layer so I don't have progress photos to show, but for each drawing, I roughly added in all the colours in the approximate locations they'd be, and once I did that for every single panel, I went back and cleaned them up one by one.

And that's that! After colouring was done, I added my signature, posted it, and took the nap of the century.

Final, Final Thoughts

I worked... Very Hard to get the comic out before leaks night and even if it was just a few hours, I'm so glad I was able to do it cause when I saw the actual chapter I lost my mindddd

I feel like as the comic progressed, Katsuki's feelings took a backseat and if I was to redo it, I'd probably put a bit more emphasis on that than I did in the final version. I feel like his ~inner turmoil~ didn't fully come through the way I wanted it to. I didn't want it to be an immediate acceptance — I wanted the fact that he was struggling with his past to be evident too — but with the focus being so heavily on Izuku, Katsuki's inner thoughts get a bit lost which is too bad </3 Good thing is Horikoshi had the exact opposite idea as me, so it all worked out :D

I'm really proud of how the comic turned out, and I'm so happy to have gotten such a positive response to it! Thank you for reading if you got this far and thank you for reading my silly self-indulgent hospital comic :)

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLETT (IT WAS MAROON) - CHAPTER TWO: DON'T YOU

"DON'T YOU SMILE AT ME AND ASK ME HOW I'VE BEEN. DON'T YOU SAY YOU'VE MISSED ME."

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, mentions alcohol use/abuse, mentions of drug use/abuse, minors dni

☆ WC: 4K+

☆ A/N: please heed all warnings when it comes to this fic - it's gonna be a ride of dealing with heavy topics. also, if you ever see me miss a warning, please message me to let me know.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

The days had all started to blur together for Eddie at some point.

Wake up in a new city, enter unfamiliar venues that all sort of looked the same, play the same tired riffs on his guitar that had become more habit than passion, drink himself to the point of unconsciousness in his hotel room after the shows. Rinse and repeat. Occasionally, the monotonous routine of it all would break in reprieve with an unexpected party where Eddie would find endless opportunity for more trouble. Drugs freely offered to him in private rooms, others willingly waiting on him hand and foot, women clinging to his arm in hopes of a chance of ending up in the rockstar’s bed.

They never did come back to the hotels with him. He always woke up to cold and unfamiliar beds. 

He’d stopped keeping track of most menial details. If someone were to ask him what city he was in, he’d only offer pathetic shrugs in answer. If someone inquired what the date was, he’d be lucky to even get the month right. Things like that didn’t really matter anymore. He had people for that. He had a person who took care of all his travel arrangements, only making sure he was in the right car or on the right flight. He had a person who took care of all his meals, some fancy chef he never bothered to learn the name of because he rarely touched the expensive meals. Someone to do his shopping, someone to do his emails. Someone to run his social media accounts and someone to keep his name out of the tabloids to the best of their abilities. 

You name it, he had a person. 

And at some point, between all the chaos handled and responsibilities shoveled off, Eddie Munson himself had stopped feeling like a person. 

“Munson, are you even listening to me?” 

No. He hadn’t been. He had been staring at an empty space on the shelf across the room, a clean circle formed by an object that no longer sat amongst the layer of dust. The sun was hitting it just right so even with the height, he could see the contrast in the wood where dust hadn’t been able to reach for some period of time. He hadn’t been listening – he’d been wondering what object had once occupied the space, what thing had been lost. Or maybe removed. What had been taken away from the shelf. 

It was probably just a vase, or a meaningless trophy. Something shiny without meaning to his agent. 

“Something about a tour, yeah?” he guesses baselessly, “You were asking me about tour dates?” 

Matt, his agent, scowls, “Not even close.”

Eddie waits silently as he looks to the older man, leaving an empty space in the conversation for him to continue on. 

Empty space. It was funny, the way nothingness could be so suffocating. The nothingness on the shelf that had suffocated all of Eddie’s attention, the current silence batting between him and his agent that was gripping his throat in irritation. 

Matt didn’t say another word. He was going to make Eddie contribute, to beg and barter to be let back in on information he would have been privy to if he had just been listening. 

It made a sigh of annoyance leave Eddie's lips, “Then what were you saying?” 

He was just doing his job. Matt had been a good enough agent to Eddie, to the entirety of Corroded Coffin, but he’d never catch any of the guys saying so. Not even Jeff, the kindest of the boys. And especially not Eddie, the roughest of the members.  

Matt had been hired two years ago, right at the tail end of the tour that had sky-rocketed all of the newfound fame. He was older, more experienced, better equipped to handle a band on the rise as quickly as Corroded Coffin was. A salt and pepper beard that spoke business, thin wire frame glasses that he always let rest just slightly lower than necessary on the bridge of his nose so he could look up at the boys over them with that specific look of disappointment only a father could muster. Heavy sighs when the boys were lashing out, muted patience every time he’d requested in person meetings with Eddie specifically only to slide another unpleasant magazine cover across his desk. 

For a while, all that father figure potential had made something ache within Eddie. Made him think of someone back home, consider the disappointment someone back in rural Indiana was experiencing just the same in him. But Matt wasn’t a smoker, he had a head full of neat and quipped silver hair, and his voice wasn’t very gruff when he lectured Eddie on why what he did was wrong. 

And most of all – Matt, unlike someone back home, still spoke to Eddie. It was only due to a paycheck, out of obligation more than genuine caring for his well being, but an incoming phone call is still a phone call all the same. 

Eddie had hated him for every single second of those two years. He hadn’t wanted someone new involved in the band’s business, but it had been necessary. Because change, according to Jeff, was necessary. 

Eddie fucking hated change. 

“I was discussing the release, Eddie,” Matt sighs and adjusts his glasses to perch in that damn fatherly position, looking up from the paperwork on his desk before him, “We need to start planning the album launch.” 

“What about it?” Eddie sinks further into the uncomfortable office chair, trying to keep his eyes focused on the large oak desk before him rather than that shelf. He doesn’t need to keep reminiscing on things that are missing, “We release the single, we release the album, we go on tour. Same thing we did last time.” 

“We were actually thinking about a release party.” 

He says it expectantly, as if the promise of a party should entice Eddie. And Eddie supposes that he brought that expectation about himself. 

“I don’t want an album release party.” 

They don’t get it. They never really do. The drugs, the alcohol, the women that never make it off the club’s front steps with him – they think of these things as Eddie’s indulgent vices. Things he realized he had the money and the status for finally, and so he’d taken to gorging himself. They think of them as treats to dangle before him. They think of them as pleasures, as rewards, even as punishments when they threaten to take them away as if he’s a child to be controlled. 

They almost get it. They’re so close to getting it. 

Eddie’s eyes find that blank space amongst photographs of other clients and rewarded plaques for albums gone golden, “Why the fuck should we start throwing parties now? It’s just an album.” 

Younger Eddie claws at his throat and chest alike, screaming ferociously at the way he’s dragged down the significance of the music. But younger Eddie isn’t the one in this chair, the boy who had started a band out of a friend’s garage and had spent endless nights up late giddily writing songs about sticking it to the man has long since died. Eddie buried him years ago, and never bothered with a gravestone. 

“It’s your sophomore album, and it’s highly anticipated,” Matt argues, the space between his brows creasing with both stress and confusion, “We’d be idiots to not make a big deal of it.” 

“If it’s already highly anticipated, we don’t need to make a big deal out of it.” 

“We’ve already hired an agency. We have a meeting with a planner tomorrow to help with all arrangements.” 

Another change, another person. 

“I don’t want a party,” Eddie goes stoic, white knuckling the arms of the chair he sits in as his teeth begin to grind each other in a desperate attempt to reign in his temper. It’s only acceptable when he’s drunk, when there’s cameras and the image of a rowdy rockstar serves to garner the band more attention, “Cancel the meeting.” 

Matt pulls off his glasses completely, leaning forward with hunched shoulders as he pinches that now empty bridge of his nose, “This isn’t negotiable. This is happening with or without you-”

“Like Hell is it happening without me,” Eddie snaps immediately, temper now flaring and tugging on the fragile leash he had on it, “It’s my fucking music, my fucking band-” 

“The band has already agreed.”

Eddie’s anger hits a brick wall. Matt’s gaze is unstaggering as he lets the revelation settle amongst the dust. 

The band has already agreed.

This wasn’t Matt coming to Eddie first to pitch an idea. This wasn’t a meeting to seek out approval. 

Eddie was the last to know. He was simply the last in the lineup, an obstacle to take care of for a plan he didn’t have the capability to derail. 

“I don’t care,” he spits out in disguised desperation, “I don’t want a pa-”

“It’s happening,” Matt repeats himself, not backing down even as he watches Eddie’s anger rise, “I’m sorry, Eddie. It’s happening. I expect you to be in attendance at the meeting tomorrow – I’ll send a car.” 

Eddie’s eyes are no longer focused on the blank space on the shelf. They’re zeroed in on Matt’s pupils, looking him right back in the eyes as he sees an empty pocket there, too. Something missing. Something lost. 

His only option is to lose this fight. This is a battle that must be lost in order to win the war. A war that everyone else is unaware of, a war that has been raged mostly only between Eddie’s own two ears. 

Something missing, something lost. 

Eddie’s grin as he raises his white flag is salacious, aware of the bloodshed to come.

Let it happen, he thinks bitterly. Let them watch it burn. I’ve got nothing to lose. 

Eddie gets what he wants — the meeting ends suddenly upon his giving in. 

And so another routine begins; Eddie is dismissed, Eddie is rounded up into a car, Eddie is left on the front door step of his apartment building with a doorman who doesn’t even smile at the rockstar these days. He’s probably seen Eddie at his worst one too many times, stumbling in drunk and incoherent, lucky that the paps had given up swarming the building this last month.

“Morning, Fred,” Eddie still greets him regardless, grinning behind dark sunglasses, wiggling his fingers in a taunt.

The doorman’s name is most certainly not Fred. Eddie forgot his name within his first week living here, though. And greeting the familiar face with a new name every time brought a little reprieve amongst Eddie’s tedious schedule of repetition. 

“It’s three in the afternoon,” the man replies in a flat tone.

“Ah,” Eddie pauses by the standing desk, “In that case – good afternoon, Frank.” 

The driver is long gone, probably eager to end his short day. Eddie couldn’t care less, lingering just a few seconds longer in the warm sun outside before he locks himself away in his self-built prison for the night. 

The man, certainly not Frank based on the unimpressed look he wears, forces out a stiff, “Good afternoon, Mr. Munson.” 

It’s Eddie’s cue to leave him alone. To walk away and stop pestering. 

When Eddie was younger, he would have loved the game. He would have stayed planted and seen how much he could truly bother the poor man. A pest in its truest form, he would have hounded the man from the first day he’d forgotten his name until he had relearned his name. It never would have carried on this long – a whole year of being too prideful to just admit the game he was playing at. 

Unmarked grave. That spirit, that essence, would lay restlessly beneath soil for another day. Another month. Another year. Another lifetime. 

Eddie’s apartment is on the top floor of his building, making his knuckle ache when he punches the 10th button on the elevator. His stomach lurches as the mechanics carry him up, and he tells himself it’s just gravity resisting; it couldn’t possibly be loneliness catching flight within him, making its presence known with each increase of distance he puts between himself and others who dwell on the streets. He’d had the option to move into the same building as the rest of the band, each boy having taken turns in groveling when he’d announced he’d be moving out of his old apartment. He had turned every single one down.

His old apartment. That small one-bedroom apartment that still exists on the other side of town, the one he can’t pass the building of and deliberately demands all his drivers avoid the street of. It never really felt like just his. Even when he returned to it empty. It was never just his. It had already been tainted as something more, and he’d dished out quite the pretty show of money to get out of his lease early. It had only taken him paying up front with cash for the remaining months of his lease, a price that at the time had felt a bit light. There had been half an amount missing. Half a responsibility handed off to someone else. Someone his mind can’t risk to think about, not tonight.

But his new apartment doesn’t feel like his either. 

And with each echoing footstep from the sole of his heavy boots, each click of each extensive lock that had been installed into his front door, he knows who he’s going to think about. Even before he pours the whiskey. Even before he catches sight of an old framed photo, folded with care and intention inside a frame to only see three quarters of the original picture. 

Himself in the center, Gareth with crossed arms leaning into the camera’s view on his left, and a wild hand in the blurry corner that surely belonged to none other than Dustin Henderson. And if anyone viewing the old frame squinted, truly leaned down to focus, they’d catch it — the phantom hand’s nimble fingers curled around Eddie’s right shoulder, and the rubber toe of a shoe, creased from the wearer perching up on their tip-toes. The tiniest of details of someone no longer visible from the fold.

His night was always going to end up this way. Thinking about the ones he’s lost, even as they still exist within reach. The ones he had given away. The ones that were missing. 

An empty sliver of space in the frame, where the missing quarter of the photo would fit perfectly. He doesn’t have to wonder where that absent item, person, has gone.

—

In deciding that the only way forward was to raise Hell, Eddie should have considered the consequences. 

Agreeing to the meeting meant a plethora of inconveniences, one after another, hit after hit against Eddie’s already sour mood. 

It begins with an early wakeup call. 

Pounding on the front door of Eddie’s too big and too empty apartment wakes him up, head still spinning from the night before. He hadn’t drunk that much – at least, that’s what he had convinced himself after his fifth glass of whiskey straight. 

He hadn’t even poured the liquor over ice. Leaving something to be desired, something missing, but telling himself he deserved the burn all the same. 

After he had been rushed through his morning, Matt himself arrived to escort Eddie to the meeting as if he had sensed the impending trouble from the easy succession the day before, it only got worse. The headache lingered, and Matt only made it pound against Eddie’s temples more aggressively as he spent the entire drive going over details that were entirely insignificant to the frontman. Nothing more than talk of a release party Eddie was still adamantly against. 

The black and tinted SUV had never more resembled a prison on wheels. 

“I figure we have time,” Matt focuses down on his phone, thumbs flying as he no doubt replies to an email in relation to this entire plot, “We haven’t announced the album yet, or the single. Release date is set for…” he pauses, checking the calendar on his small screen, “November sixteenth. So we’ve got about six months. We outlined more of the specific timeline in the contract with the company, but I’m thinking the first single should be released in three months…”

Eddie tunes him out slowly but surely, his tone eventually muddling with the hum of the tires on asphalt. He knows when the album deadline is. He knows when the first single will be released, having been involved in every step of the mastering process. 

He knows, he knows, he knows.

That’s the problem.

He knows this album better than the back of his own hand. He’s painstakingly aware of the memory of writing every single line, formulating every single guitar riff and going as far as to override Gareth on the drums when it came to perfecting beats during recording. He’s acutely aware of the ticking countdown in the back of his mind until this album no longer belongs to just him, to just the band – the day it becomes something for others to own, to analyze, to decide to relate to their own experiences. 

The thought makes Eddie physically ill. 

Because it’s not their experiences or their emotions to reclaim. It isn’t their blood, their sweat, their tears across every track. It’s not even the rest of the band’s – it’s Eddie’s. They had all known the first day he’d stormed into the studio, beginning the process two years ago, this was going to be his journey to take. The band had become a vessel, the album a labor of his own demise. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts and swirling nausea, he doesn’t realize the car has come to a full stop until Matt’s hand comes down on his shoulder. 

“You ready?” 

No. But I never will be. 

“Let’s just get this shit over with,” Eddie mumbles, shrugging off the palm meant to be comforting but only being smothering. 

The ache only returns whenever someone touches him. Whether it be Matt, or Jeff, or Gareth, or Grant, or random women at unnamed clubs Eddie hardly remembers the insides of. The ache of something missing, something lost, something he’s tried to forget but can’t seem to erase from the back of his mind. 

The building is nice. A large skyscraper to fit in amongst the rest of the city skyline around it, no lack of large ceiling-to-floor windows or modern decor. Something about the minimalistic approach, abstract artwork and fake plants that are almost convincing if it weren’t for their plasticky shine beneath fluorescent lights, leaves Eddie feeling even more empty than when he first entered the building. He didn’t even realize that was possible until he caught sight of one of the receptionist’s blank smiles. 

Not a single word is spoken during the elevator ride up to the sixth floor. It’s fine; Eddie has already spent the last two years trying to find solstice in the silence, he can survive another minute.

He’s almost prepared to ask Matt if the rest of the band is even here, but the question is answered for him after he’s guided through a series of hallways by another soulless receptionist, only to enter a large conference room in which two security guards flank the door of and the rest of Corroded Coffin occupy.

“Finally,” Gareth says, far too dramatically, as if Eddie was late. 

Matt had made sure he arrived a full five minutes early. A personal record, Eddie’s pretty sure. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry to keep you all waiting,” Eddie sarcastically snaps, bowing for a bit of theatrics before he rounds the long table to go for the empty seat at the dead center of his friends. Right between Gareth and Grant, Eddie slips into a stiff-cushioned roller chair that creaks beneath his weight, “What is this place, anyways?” 

“An event planning agency,” Jeff answers from the other side of Gareth. 

Matt takes the seat beside Grant. 

“You do know what the meeting is about, right?” Gareth asks, genuinely quirking an eyebrow with such little faith in Eddie. 

It rubs him raw, offended despite understanding where his bandmates were coming from. He had become fairly disconnected from the business aspect of the band for a while now, “Of fucking course, I do. I’m not entirely oblivious.” 

“You sure do act like it,” Gareth mutters, barely audible, in return.

He doesn’t reply. Not with his immediate offense, and certainly not with the snarky reply that begins to materialize in his mind the longer he sits with the insinuation. Even if it hurts, Eddie won’t let it show. He numbs it, compartmentalizes it, packs the emotion tightly away and leaves behind nothing more than an empty space. 

Matt anxiously checks his watch, Craig begins to tap his knuckles against the large table before them all, Jeff begins to bounce his leg, and Gareth seems hellbent on now pretending that Eddie doesn’t exist. 

Don’t let it show. Even if it hurts. 

“They’re late-” Matt starts to mutter just as the door finally swings open. Eddie doesn’t move an inch, keeping his arms crossed and posture slack in his chair, as if he couldn’t care less. 

The person who storms in first clearly cares. “I’m so sorry, gentleman, there was just some… complications with your security measures-” 

Eddie doesn’t care who this woman is. He doesn’t care for the sudden sweep of her overwhelming perfume that follows her into the room, he doesn’t care for the bleeding edges of her mauve lipstick, he doesn’t care for the startling slickness of her pin straight blonde hair. She smooths her free hand over a pencil skirt he also feels little opinion towards, nothing more than another addition to a dreadfully boring corporate dress code. She’s nothing special – she doesn’t take his breath away. 

It’s the person that follows her into the conference room that sucks all the air out of his lungs. 

Frizzy hair, glaring eyes over a shoulder at one of the guards. Arms full of manila folders and a pen tucked behind the ear. A far more casual attire of jeans and a wrinkle-free shirt that fits well. If his eyes could tear away from the person’s face that had yet to turn cheek towards him, he’d probably glance down to find a pair of comfortable sneakers rather than heels like the first woman wore. 

A ghost. A phantom from Eddie’s past that had spent the last two years haunting every dream, every melody, every crowd, every drunken night. The one face that ruined every other set of eyes that had ever landed on him with the worst intentions.

You. 

You haven’t spotted him yet, not like he’s spotted you. You’re full of fire and spunk, so unlike the last time he’d seen you with his own two eyes. No burning cheeks like the first time he’d met you. No downturned gaze full of brimming loss or sadness, only a fierce gaze you won’t back down from. 

And then, from across a deathly still room, your head turns and your eyes find his. 

Like the first breath of wind amongst an impending hurricane, your fire exits you in a singular exhale. Eddie swears it travels across the room for him. Snaking its way over more than just physical distance, reaching out for him in a whisper of loss – no elongated conference table, no narrow room, no amount of time could deter its pathway to him. 

You, who he hadn’t seen in over two years. You, who had once been his end all and be all. You, who had chewed him up and spit him out without ever once sharpening your teeth. 

The entire room pauses for the two of you. Every single member of Corroded Coffin is staring, the corporate machine in a pencil skirt stills, and Matt glances at Eddie with blissful unawareness.

An empty space on a shelf, surrounded in dust. A glass half-empty, lacking in ice. A cold bed and an echoing hallway, a picture frame never quite filled as it should be. 

Something lost, something missing.

All Eddie is capable of is the sigh of your name.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724 @madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos @dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone

join my taglist!

[pseudophan]

Since you're the go-to phannie dream blog in my mind, here's my dream log from last night:

I had a really lovely dream last night where dan and phil were for some reason hosting a giant pool party that was like the size of a tit show and they were doing it multiple times. At the start they joked about how people liked to theorize about the phouse’s structure and how they saw some people saying that they had a pool in their basement because of this event, and dan did his jokey shout about how they have other things to pay for and how they would not have hosted us in their totally fake pool in their basement to protect the phouse’s address. He left us very unclear about whether or not they actually had a pool in their basement and pool hill grew exponentially because it had been a somewhat niche topic that mostly came up in phanfic before. At each pool event, they had a group of people that were invited into a smaller pool with them while the rest of the fans partied in the giant, theatre sized pool in the background. Yet somehow it was not at all overwhelming sound or people wise, it felt strangely intimate. I was super shocked that I was invited to the small pool this time, and I felt a bit of imposter syndrome with it. We started with everyone kinda standing in a circle around dan and phil and then we broke off depending on who we wanted to talk to. But pretty much everyone went to talk with dan? I was very sad and went with just a few people to hang out with phil while there was a relatively giant circle around dan, but he looked like he was having a good time. Dan was mostly standing around in the center with his cohort and phil and me and a little kid named charlie (or something cute with a c) wandered around him like we were in a lazy river. It was strange because there was no water resistance and it didn’t feel like we were in the water at all, but we were. We had a very nice chat about nothing really of substance, but I felt like I was talking to a friend. Charlie eventually wandered off, he was around 6 so it made sense that he was bored, and phil went to go and sit on the sidelines with a towel. I was intimidated by the group around dan so I went and collected the mini chocolate bars that were floating around, occasionally bumping into charlie. I have no idea who his parents were – was he their kid or just a kid who happened to be unsupervised? It was very unclear. I got a handful of chocolate and went to phil to show off what I had found. He seemed excited that I had found a good amount, but sad that there was one that had been opened at the bottom of the pool-waste of a good chocolate he said. I sat next to him and we compared chocolate. They were all fancy branded chocolate but with special flavors that had funny icons and names. He said that his favorite was the disco chocolate with a unicorn on it and it was like a cookies and cream type thing. He bit into it with gusto as I opened my first wrapper. Not sure what the flavor was, but it had a chestnut horse on the front and it looked to have some sort of nut on the inside. It was bizarre how the seemingly normal paper wrapper had protected it from all water, pool smell, etc. It seemed like they had never been in the pool. Some girl who wasn’t in pool attire came up and said that it wasn’t fair that I was hoarding phil, which I thought was strange because I had left him alone for a while when I was collecting chocolate and no one went up to him but I said I was happy to give her some time alone with him, but then she huffed and went over to dan (who was, mind you, in the pool and she just went straight in with her fancy emo attire without seeming to care if it got wet). Phil brushed her off and we sat in a comfortable silence watching dan entertain in the pool. I woke up feeling very parasocially nourished. 

-golden-phig

this is how detailed my dreams were when i was on zoloft, goddamn

the idea of a dan and phil pool party is hysterical can i just say, especially one where they split up to talk to people the entire time i think they might die. can you imagine the discourse if everyone only wanted to talk to dan 😭 i got stressed just reading that

[cyborgfranky]

Sleep On My Heart - Chapter 2

chapter one

“I hate this.” You huff, spread out on the floor like a starfish after a long day of training, muscles screaming in agony.

Penguin isn’t much better, actually worse if you really thought about it. He was a much better fighter, but he was also lazy and hardly had any endurance.

Bepo would come in to help out with training (like an angel), but then Law would catch him and scold him for leaving the navigation room unattended.

Shachi also stopped by occasionally, but Penguin usually kicked him out since he was being a huge nuisance.

He groans and flips over onto his back, “Me too.” Penguin sits up with a wide smile, “But~ I think you could beat me soon…!”

You furrow your brows at him, “If by soon you mean another agonizing month, then yeah, I agree.”

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I don’t like losing.” You huff, crossing your arms with a pout.

Penguin hums in reply, seemingly pondering something before standing up and offering you a hand. “Let’s go have lunch.” He smiles widely, and you have a feeling he’s up to something when his grin stays the entire (short) walk to the dining room.

The quiet buzz of the Polar Tang always brought you comfort, especially when it filled the awkward silence that came with your captain. He nodded at you and Penguin in greeting, reading a newspaper while sipping coffee. He clearly had just woken up, evident from the fresh dark circles under his eyes and his dry, cracked lips pressing insistently against his mug. He shifted in his seat, like he wanted to leave, but was too stiff about himself to just get up and go.

He was funny that way, sometimes it felt like distaste for the people he was around, but the next moment it would become clear he was just incredibly socially awkward. Although you had only seen that happen, it only felt like he was burning with annoyance at your presence everytime you were around, never granting the sweet relief of him just being introverted.

Penguin hands me a rice ball, which I accept gratefully despite wishing it was a sandwich. You had found out the hard way how much Law hates bread when you made him a sandwich a few weeks back, only to be met with the most dramatic reaction a man could have to bread. Penguin and Shachi watched and laughed at you for an hour after that, and you grimaced at the memory, remembering how Law’s hatred for you had seemingly deepened since then.

Penguin chats excitedly with you, lately he’d made it his mission to find out everything there is to know about you. He’d asked any questions that came to mind from ‘ what’s your favorite color?’ to ‘ so… tell me what it was like growing up with an absent father’. Penguin had not nearly enough room to joke about absent parents, by the way.

He taps his chin for a moment, then lights up, “What’s your favorite weather?”

You huff in amusement, “Cloudy, I guess.”

“Oh good!” He gushes, “Once we surface the weather will be perfect!”

You perk up at that, “Oh? We’re surfacing soon?” You ask through a mouthful of rice.

Law sends you a sharp glare, looking up from the paper he was so focused on a moment ago, “Don't talk with food in your mouth.”

Penguin rolls his eyes, “Give em’ a break, we’ve been training so hard, Captain~”

Law sighs and folds his paper, placing it under his coffee. “Have you defeated him yet?”

You snort, wanting to make a smart comment about his nerdy vocabulary, but ultimately deciding against it. “Almost!” You send a fake punch at Penguin, knocking his head back and giggling softly at his stupid face.

“Good. If you can do it before we surface, I’ll allow the crew to go out drinking, my treat.” He quickly looks toward Penguin, “And no, that does not mean go easy. I’ll observe for the next few hours until we dock.”

A spark of determination erupts in your stomach and you scarf down the remains of your onigiri and chug the glass of water Penguin had provided. Law quirks a brow at you and you catch a glimpse of a smile before it disappears, like it was never there. I stand up and begin to pull at Penguin’s sweatsuit, “C’mon, hurry up!”

“I forgot how much of an alcoholic you are!” He laughs, fixing his hat as he stands up.

“Am not!”

“Didn’t Shachi catch you drinking the rubbing alcohol–”

“Let’s go!” You nervously laugh, afraid of what Law might do if he found out you were drinking patient resources.

Law steps into the room after the two of you, he glances around the room for a moment before simply sitting in the corner, opening a notebook and presumably writing notes on the news. Nerd .

It’s awkward at first, being around your captain is always nerve wracking and Penguin isn't helping by being thrice as comfortable with it than you are. Trafalgar keeps sending disapproving looks your way, and that throws you off even more.

“Stop.” He says, sighing and standing up from his spot. “Sit down, Penguin.” The jumpsuit-clad man rushes to his spot like a dog with his tail between his legs, and his fear only adds to the quake in your knees as your captain takes his place.

Law raises his chin at you, hands on his hips. “You know the human body, correct?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Focus on my weak spots; my neck, ears, knees, anything you can think of. Play dirty, we’re pirates.” It’s a lot easier to face him head on, you realize as the adrenaline rushes through your veins. He won't use his devil fruit , you decide, not on such a trivial thing .

This knowledge fills you with confidence, he might even go easy on you!

[jennay]

Livestream

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Request: would love a fluffy best friends that totally have loved each other but are scared to admit, maybe do something like if he still streamed. I wish he still did occasionally. 😭♥️♥️

An: this had a little more angst then what I originally planned. Lol but I hope you all enjoy it! I'm living for the Noah requests. 🥰

Also as you can tell I know nothing about twitch. 😂

Noah master list

Warnings: cursing and angst…mostly fluff.

Words: about 2600

You perk up as you hear the door open and close, breaking the silence of the empty bar. You've been waiting for some customers to show up, hoping to make some decent tips today. You smile as you recognize the familiar faces of Noah and Nicholas.

You grab two glasses and greet them warmly. "My favorite customers! What can I get you?" You ask.

Nicholas hops on the stool next to Noah and scans the deserted place. "How's it going?" He says. "Where's the party at?"

You shrug and hand him a beer. "Covid, Nick… it's hard to get people out these days."

You glance at Noah, who is browsing the canned drinks. His long, dark hair frames his handsome face. You can't help but admire how cute he is, even though you would never tell him that. You and Noah have a platonic friendship, but it's not like any other. You have feelings for him, but you don't want to ruin what you have. You enjoy spending time with him, watching movies, playing games, and teasing him on his live streams. He took a while to figure out that you were the one leaving funny comments on his videos. He cracked up when he realized it was you, especially when you were doing it from his own bedroom.

Sometimes, you would catch him looking puzzled at the screen, wondering who was messing with him. "Who the fuck is this?" He would say, reading one of your messages. "They think they're hilarious."

"Hi sunshine, what are you in the mood for? Beer, white claw, mix drink?"

Noah tucks his hair behind his ears and points at a blackberry-white claw. "That sounds good. Can I have one of those?"

You nod and grab the can from the cooler. You pop it open and slide it over to him.

Conversing with them as you lean on the counter. "So, what's up with you guys today? Any big plans for the night?" You ask.

Noah sighs and takes a sip of his drink. "We just needed a break from the house. It's driving me crazy being stuck in there all the time." He says. "And we wanted to see our favorite bartender, of course!"

"I thought you were working on the album?"

Nicholas nods and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but then Jolly got into an argument with Noah. We had to pause."

You laugh and raise your eyebrow. You're not surprised that Noah was the problem. He may seem calm and quiet, but he's also a perfectionist who wants to do everything over and over again.

"Noah." You scold. "You're such a drama queen!"

He puts his drink down and leans forward, clasping his hands together as if he's about to confess something. But instead, he whispers, "Fuck off."

You giggle at his remark, rolling your eyes at him. "You're a man-child."

"And you love it." He teases. "Are you coming over after your shift?"

"Maybe."

Nicholas laughs as he watches you lean closer to Noah, pretending to be angry at him. You narrow your eyes and say, "I don't even like you."

Noah gasps and clutches his chest, acting hurt. "Fucking liar!" He exclaims. "You adore me!"

You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. "What's in it for me?"

Nicholas stands, sneering, tired of the bickering between you and Noah, "I'm gonna use the pisser. Watch my drink, make sure Noah doesn't drug me."

"So," Noah says, smacking his hands on the counter jokingly, "Are you going to?" He asks eagerly, flashing his perfect white teeth in a hopeful smile. He leans closer to you, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I can't." You bite your bottom lip. "Why do you want me to come over so bad anyway? That's the second time you've asked."

"Nothing." He laughs, "Sometimes I like your company when I stream. The crowd that gets on likes you."

"Probably because I'm amazing." You joke.

Noah takes a sip of his drink, watching you intently as you pick up some glasses to clean.

He sets his can down, "Probably." He agrees quietly but with a hint of seriousness in his tone.

"Hmm?" You question, not hearing him.

"Oh, I just said unlikely." He lies, smirking at you.

You set the glass down and glare at him, "Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with you. You're pretty mean." You know Noah is teasing you, but sometimes you wonder if that's what he really thinks of you.

"You're sensitive as fuck today." His brow raises, but he doesn't ask why you might be feeling that way.

"Maybe you're being an asshole?"

When Nicholas arrives back at the bar, he can sense the tension between you. "What'd you pick a fight with (y/n) too?" His brown eyes look from you to Noah and to his drink. He quickly drinks the rest of it, glaring at Noah for whatever he did to annoy you. "C'mon. Don't be a dick. Let's get out of here." He flashes you a quick smile. "See ya later, (y/n)."

Noah smiles at you again, "Come over!" He doesn't wait for you to respond. He leaves you behind, waving as he exits.

You didn't go to Noah's house after work. Instead, you went home, made dinner, and cozied on the couch to watch a movie with your dog. You didn't bother texting him; his words had stung. You'd been a loyal friend to him for years, but he didn't seem to appreciate it.

Sometimes, it felt like you were a burden to him or a toy for his amusement. He treated you differently when his friends were around.

When you were alone, however, it was a different story. He was sweet and kind; Noah showered you affectionately, making your heart flutter. But as soon as one of his buddies showed up, he changed. He teased you mercilessly and acted like you were one of the guys. You hated it; you weren't one of the guys. You were a girl who had feelings for him.

Feelings that you wished would disappear, but they didn't. They clung to you like a shadow, haunting you every day. You hoped that maybe one day he would see you as more than a friend, but right now wasn't the right time.

You were just (y/n), his best friend who secretly loved him but would die before admitting it.

An idea clicked in your head; you knew he was streaming tonight. You run to your room, get your laptop, and plop back on the couch, ensuring not to squish your golden retriever, whose mighty perked up over your quick actions.

You're feeling mischievous today. You log into Twitch with a different username and no camera, ready to mess with Noah.

You find his invite and click on it, eager to see his reaction. He's live, looking handsome as ever in his glasses, sweater, and cat ear headphones. His long hair falls over his shoulders as he reads the chat. You pause for a moment, wondering if this is a good idea. But curiosity gets the better of you. You want to know what he says when he thinks you're not listening.

He answers a question from a fan, "Where's (Y/n)?" He shrugs and sips his drink, "I don't know. I think I pissed her off, so she's not joining me tonight. Maybe she'll show up later." He adjusts his glasses and reads another question, "I had a surprise for you guys tonight, but (Y/n) 's not here so no surprise."

You raise an eyebrow and type a question, "Maybe you should be nicer to her." You hit enter and bite your lip, waiting for him to notice. His eyes widen as he reads your message.

"Nicer to her!?" He exclaims, incredulous. "I'm always nice to her. She's one of my best friends." He looks at your username and frowns, "Who are you anyway?"

You smirk and reply, "You weren't very nice at the bar today."

He grins, realizing it's you, "Why are you hiding behind a fake account?"

You mute the movie playing in the background of your living room, amused by his reaction. You decide to play along. "I didn't know how mean I wanted to be. Maybe treat you how you treat me sometimes."

"You didn't even listen to what I said!" He rolls his eyes and laughs sarcastically, "If you're going to do this, you might as well show your pretty face." He challenges you. He glances at his follower count, which is rising rapidly. People love drama, and he knows it. He usually doesn't get this personal on a livestream, but he has some things he wants to say. "Besides, you started it when you said you didn't even like me!"

You scowl at the screen, annoyed by his words. How dare he act innocent? "I have to keep up with your assholeness!" You type back.

He shakes his head and sends you a link to join him on the stream. "You're not fooling anyone anymore. Just join me already."

You sigh, feeling the pressure. You switch to your main account and click the link he sent you. You allow your camera to turn on, and soon enough, your face appears next to his on the screen.

"Happy now?" You ask with more attitude than you intended.

He nods, smiling at the screen. "There you are."

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hands, "What do you want Noah? I don't really feel like talking to you right now."

He looks at you seriously, "Well, I wanted to talk to you about something important. Something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time."

You raise an eyebrow, curious and suspicious. "What?"

He takes a deep breath and says, "I don't want to be your friend anymore." He pauses, feeling nervous.

You instantly feel a gut-wrenching sickness in your stomach, "Fuck you!"

"Wait! Let me finish!" He quickly says. "I like you more than a friend. I've liked you since the day we met, and I've been trying to show you how I feel, but I guess I'm not very good at it and I get scared and I fuck up and then I tease you thinking it's flirting, but it's not working cause it's been four years, and you still haven't caught on, and I'm sorry if I ever hurt you or made you angry. That's never my intention. I just wanted to make you laugh and smile and be happy. I haven't said it directly because I was afraid to lose you, but now I feel like I'm losing you because I won't fucking say it."

You blink, stunned by his words. You don't know what to say or how to react. You look at the chat, which is going wild with comments and emojis. Some are cheering for him, teasing him, and shipping you two.

You realize that he just confessed his feelings for you to thousands of people. You look back at him, searching his eyes for any sign of a joke or a prank. But he seems sincere and nervous, waiting for your response.

You feel your heart beating faster and your face heating up. You wonder if he can hear it through the microphone. You open your mouth, but no words come out. You're speechless.

"God, dammit, Noah. I'm facetiming you. Get off your live."

You're nervous and excited as you sit beside Noah on his Twitch stream. It's been a week since he confessed his feelings for you. You've decided to go public with your relationship, and you're ready to face his fans' reactions.

You sway back and forth in your chair, waiting for the screen to load. Noah rests his hand on your leg, giving you a gentle squeeze. "You OK?" He asks, looking at you with concern.

You nod your head, smiling at him. "Yeah. I'm good. Are you sure you want to tell everyone now?" You ask, feeling a bit nervous.

He nods, grinning at you. "It's been a week. I think they've waited long enough." He says, referring to the cliffhanger he left on his last stream.

He pulls you closer to him and kisses your cheek. You giggle and lean on his shoulder, feeling his warmth and heartbeat.

The computer dings, and the chat has started. You pull your head back from Noah's tattooed arm and sit straight, ready to face the camera. Hundreds of messages pop up on the screen, asking about you and Noah, wondering if you're together or not.

Noah looks at you with a reassuring smile and wraps his arm around your waist. He leans in and whispers in your ear, "Ready to do this, babe?" He calls you by the nickname he gave you when you started dating. You feel affection for him and nod, blushing. He kisses your forehead and turns to the camera, greeting his fans.

"Hey guys, welcome! I hope you're all doing well. As you can see, I have a special guest with me today." He says, gesturing to you. "My now girlfriend." He announces proudly, making your heart skip a beat. He looks at you with love in his eyes and smiles. "Say hi, babe."

You wave at the camera and say hi, feeling shy but happy. You see the chat explode with comments, some congratulating you two, some expressing shock or disbelief, some asking questions or making jokes.

You feel overwhelmed by the attention, but Noah holds you tight and makes you feel safe. He answers some of the questions from the fans, what he likes about you, what you love about him.

Noah tells them about the surprise he had planned for them on the night he confessed his feelings for you: He was going to sing a song for you on the stream, which he wrote for you. He says he still wants to do it if you don't mind.

You nod, feeling touched by his gesture. He smiles and kisses your nose, making you giggle. He grabs his guitar from behind him and strums a few chords.

Clearing his throat, he starts singing about how much you mean to him and how happy you make him. Some other sappy things that you weren't expecting from him.

He looks at you as he sings, making eye contact every few seconds. You feel tears as you listen to his beautiful voice and heartfelt lyrics.

You smile and mouth, "I love you."

He smiles back and mouths, "I love you too." He finishes the song and puts down his guitar. He wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly, kissing your cheek. He turns to the camera and says goodbye to his fans, thanking them for their support and kind words.

He says he'll see them next time, but he wants to spend some time with his girlfriend. Noah winks at the camera and ends the stream.

He turns off the computer and looks at you with a sweet expression. "How was that?"

"That was amazing." You say sincerely, holding your hands to your heart nearly melting.

"I'm glad you liked it."

You snuggle into his chest and sigh contentedly, throwing your legs over his lap. You gently grab the sides of his face and kiss him, feeling like you're living your best dream. "It was perfect."

[flumpermergen]

Very important very canonical list of what BSD characters would say “urm what the sigma” either ironically or unironically

Dazai and Ranpo both say it ironically often back and forth to each other or to confuse the rest of the agency. Dazai especially would say it after a ten minute lecture by Kunikida in which Kunikida would respond with another ten minutes of yelling at him for not taking anything seriously.

Yosano says it once or twice when the moment’s right mostly to tease Kunikida for taking it so literally but not nearly as often as the other two.

Kyouka and Kenji heard Ranpo and Dazai say it and started repeating it even though neither of them understand what it means but it sounds funny.

Lucy joins in with Dazai and Ranpo in saying it especially towards Atsushi who doesn’t get it but just awkwardly laughs it off cause he doesn’t know how else to respond.

Tachihara said it once with the black lizards and again with the hunting dogs and both times was met with confused silence. He was trying to get a laugh but ended up just feeling hella cringy and never said it again out of embarrassment.

Gin actually did giggle when Tachihara said it but no one heard it under her mask. Now she mumbles it under her breath occasionally and once said it in front of Akutagawa who was also very confused.

In another life I firmly believe that Q would be an IPad kid who laughs at skibidi toilet jokes. If he ever were to canonically gain internet access he would defo laugh at and use the phrase unironically.

Take one look at Kajii and try to tell me he doesn’t say the most cringy chronically online shit every time he opens his mouth.

Nikolai starts saying it all the time the minute he hears the phrase. Everyone else just assumes it’s something he made up to annoy Sigma so they don’t question it. Meanwhile Sigma himself is initially confused as to why Gogol keeps using his name in vain like someone would to god. He increasingly gets more and more annoyed at it because it’s very obvious Nikolai is only doing it to make him upset. Once Sigma is at peak annoyance, Gogol starts replacing the word sigma with other words that start with the letter S like scallop or something to subvert his expectations. This only makes Sigma more annoyed as it’s obviously just a replacement for his name and its meaning remains the same. Although Sigma acknowledges how silly getting all worked up over something stupid Nikolai did is, he still can’t help it. Gogol uses the excuse that he’s not saying his name anymore so he can’t get mad at him. Finally one day Nikolai airdrops Sigma multiple TikTok’s about “sigma males” causing Sigma to have an existential crisis over what his name means and the implications of being named after such a thing cause he would never treat women that way all while Nikolai laughs about it from afar.

Natsume because of the vibe and I think it would be really funny

Come back next week to learn which kids 2000’s/2010’s virtual world each bsd character played on obsessively and why.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 天国と地獄 ~サイコな2人～/ Tengoku to Jigoku: Psychona Futari / Heaven and Hell: Soul Exchange.

Heaven and Hell: Soul Exchange is a 2021 Japanese drama about a headstrong cop, the shady CEO she suspects of being a serial killer, and what happens when they magically switch bodies.

With a premise like that, there are basically two tonal choices: You can make it a wacky comedy, or you can get real fucked-up and dark about it. This 10-episode series somehow manages the secret third thing of splitting the difference, so it's got a lot of deliciously fucked-up stuff in the setup, but it never quite has the courage of its convictions to go all the way. What that gets you is the kind of frustrating that you can't stop thinking about afterward, both for what it did and what it didn't have the guts to do.

So! If you're interested in a story that's compelling and occasionally very funny, with just enough unrealized potential that your brain keeps batting it around like a kitten with a squeaky toy at 4AM, I have five reasons that you might want to give this one a shot.

1. Half-Trans: Full Trans Consequences

We're gonna hit this one right off the bat: This is a story where a girl and boy trade bodies, so you know it's got the genders.

Mochizuki Ayako is the only female cop in her department. She's headstrong, kind of obnoxious, a slob, and not particularly feminine -- so of course the dude cops hate her. In the process of investigating a serial murder, she comes across Hidaka Haruto, who's got that kind of smug sinister aura of a smart man who's clearly hiding some shit, though all his underlings love him. When they unexpectedly bodyswap with no idea how to switch back, they're forced to keep one another's lies going so they don't both wind up in jail, except she's still trying to catch him and he's still trying to get away with it.

They work a very good contrast with the difference in their respective attachments to their genders. Despite her hardass demeanor and her lack of super-femme presentation, Mochizuki is without question a woman. She's deeply uncomfortable in a male body, and when someone calls her a man, her instinct is to deny it. Having to deal with a borrowed penis nearly gives her a meltdown.

Hidaka, on the other hand, is a fruity little guy whose first response to finding himself inside a woman's body is to get all girly and take it for a test drive. It's less that he's transfeminine and more that he just really doesn't seem all that attached to any gender. He's got boobs now, and boobs are what he's going to make work for him. Regardless of his sexuality -- and the show does leave that one a big row of question marks -- his gender is gay.

There's also some fairly solid bodyswap acting! ...kinda. Both actors have unfortunately different interpretations of Mochizuki's character. If you're being charitable, it's true she's freaking out and having some kind of gender dysphoria the entire time she's in boy mode, which could explain why she's much softer and girlier when she's being played by the male actor, Takahashi Issei. If you're more inclined to nitpick, well, you're not wrong that the performances don't line up. That said, the actors both do a great job of switching characters, so it's pretty clear when they're being different people (even if it's not necessarily the same different person).

Now, you should by no means assume this show is some conscious exploration of genderqueer existence in contemporary Japan. It is, however, way more thoughtful than I expected it to be. It leaves some very interesting silences, especially around what exactly Hidaka's taste in partners is and why Mochizuki's own body kinda gives her a lesbian awakening when someone else is in there. If you're the type who likes a trans-flavored imagination adventure, this is a spectacular starting point. You're going to have a blast.

2. The Mochizuki Support Squad

Nobody from Hidaka's side realizes what's going on with the swap; sure, the boss is acting weird, but they buy his explanations for it. Mochizuki, however, has exactly two people in the world who care so much about her that they figure out what's happened: her junior cop partner, Yamaki Hideo, and her roommate, Watanabe Riku.

You have to love a character where their closest friends are like, either you've started suddenly acting polite and nice, or you've mystically swapped bodies with another person, and honestly, the bodyswap is the more likely explanation.

This is one of those places where the show takes the goofier and more lighthearted tack. Leaving it so the only people who knew about the swap were Mochizuki and Hidaka themselves would be incredibly isolating and paranoia-inducing, especially for Mochizuki. Giving her (eventually) two buddies who know what's going on both gives her a cushion of support for her ordeal and creates a number of comic moments where these guys are looking at a stranger and seeing their friend -- and vice versa.

They're both kind of daffy sweethearts, too, which adds even more comic relief to the show. Yamaki is an easily flustered, mildly hysterical nerd who just wants his mean bestie back so she can go back to telling him what to do. Riku is a blue-collar himbo who would technically be a hobosexual except for how he both really does pull his weight around the house and (probably) isn't getting laid. They're willing to put themselves on the line and do what they can to make sure their friend is okay, no matter what body she's in.

I actually like how the show has more than couple male-female dynamics where the people involved are just friends -- or, if things change so they're not, it's strongly implied that they could have gone on being just friends and that would have been fine or even better for both parties involved. Romance is not the endgame of every mixed-genital relationship! Sometimes people who love one another dearly are friends without further obligation! You can care for people a lot without wanting to fuck them! And that's great.

Besides, I know it won't shock you to learn that the real horny part of the show plays out as...

3. An interesting game of cat and mouse

Mochizuki's got an interesting problem: She's a cop inside the body of a murderer, and as long as she's stuck here, there's a murderer inside the body of a cop out on the loose. She could, as Hidaka, confess to the murders and in a way that puts him physically in jail, but she doesn't know how to swap their bodies back. She's got to keep Hidaka appeased, or he, in her official capacity, might arrest her and just keep her body forever while she goes down for the crime. She could find a way to take them both down, but that would ruin her life too and is an absolute last resort. She could just let him go and cover up the crimes, but her sense of justice won't allow it.

While Hidaka ... well, Hidaka's got a lot going on. I'm not even going to get into Hidaka's whole deal, because it's related to some late-series spoilers. The simple version is that he's got to be pretending to catch himself while actually trying to destroy evidence about the murders, all while having to dig into gendered expectations to play a version of Mochizuki capable of ingratiating herself with her asshole coworkers instead of alienating them.

And yeah, it's pretty darn horny.

It's one of those delicious enemies-to-allies-to-grudging-friends setups where you've got two people at cross purposes who have to play nice with one another (while still being very mean to one another), and in that process they find things about the other person that are actually worth liking. Because this is a literal life-and-death situation, emotions are running high! Wanting to kill someone and wanting to save them are not mutually exclusive states.

The show makes a great decision not to have Mochizuki and Hidaka hook up, or even to acknowledge that their bond has any erotic component beyond whatever's inherent in borrowing someone else's genitals. This means that their dynamic is very intimate and physical without being textually sexual, which actually winds up making it way more sexual than it would have been otherwise. It's like horror, where what you don't see is almost always scarier than what you do -- with sexual tension, especially across ostensibly heterosexual pairs, subversion and longing are almost always much sexier than having things brought to completion onscreen. I mean, seriously, think of the number of things you've seen where there's pining, and pining, and more pining, and you ship it hard, and then they finally get together and it's a giant disappointment. Better to be left hungry for more of this almost-t4t goodness.

There's also an incredible amount of lapel-grabbing and kabedon-delivering here, so if you're in to that, itadakimasu!

4. A Cop Are Bastard

There are a number of antagonists in this story -- I mean, not shocking, considering both the premise and the way the serial murder case at the heart of the story gets weirdly complicated. The most prominent and persistent of those antagonists, though, is not a serial murderer, but one of the cops.

The character's name is Kawahara Mitsuo, but Mochizuki and Yamaki call him "Seku-Hara," as those are the first two syllables of each word in "sexual harassment." It's fitting. He's sleazy, arrogant, and an entire bag of dicks who talks like a gangster and is willing to do a lot of backhanded dirty-cop shit to get his way.

All this lands him firmly in the Love To Hate category. If you enjoy throwing popcorn at onscreen villains, pop some extra for Kawahara, because that fucker deserves it.

Maybe the most interesting thing about him is how often he's actually right. When he's not being an asshole who's doing bad cop work, he actually does good cop work, and he comes to some pretty astute conclusions about what exactly is going on with the case. Despite Mochizuki and Hidaka's joint interference, he figures out a lot of what's the two of them are up to, even without ever picking up on the bodyswap angle. So he's not just a slimy buffoon -- he's actually a formidable opponent.

Also, did I mention he's hot in a gross way? I dunno, maybe it helps that I've seen Kitamura Kazuki be hot in a not-gross way in other things, like Nekozamurai, where he plays a handsome and noble samurai sworn to protect a very cute kitty. Here, though, he's not noble at all -- he's a thug of a cop with a cocky swagger and a deep voice, and I am not above admitting that I see the appeal.

Like, fuck, I'm not usually into eyebrows, and I'm into his eyebrows. Those are some good eyebrows.

5. argh it's almost so good (but still pretty good!)

I'm about to be slightly spoilery from this point forward, not about specific plot points, but about general narrative moves. If you'd prefer to remain unspoiled for such things, stop reading right now and go to either Viki or Netflix to watch the whole show. You're welcome.

Still here? Great. See, where this show really lacks the courage of its convictions is with Hidaka's character. He starts off the series really evil! He does some very bad things! He's clearly quite sinister. Then about halfway through, the show starts to backpedal real hard and introduces another factor into the murder cases that makes him a much less outright bad guy than he seems at first blush.

...And that sucks! Because as the show first portrays him, he's deliciously kind of a fucker. He's not only confident and threatening, he's happy to take Mochizuki's body and do whatever he wants with it, regardless of her feelings. He reads as a straight-up two-faced psychopath who just wants to keep on ridding the world of bad people by straight-up grotesquely murdering them. But the show doesn't have the guts to either take him down in a blaze of glory or create a redemption arc for a guy who's got a taste for some pretty gnarly body horror, so it's got to find a way to convince you not to believe your lying eyes.

However! I do not consider this a dealbreaker, because I find what the show does wind up doing actually pretty interesting. Just because it's not the ending to the story I, personally, would have told doesn't mean it's not a story worth telling. It's maybe a little artificially convoluted, but you've already suspended your disbelief for the bodyswap thing, right? So just roll with the rest of it.

At the risk of belaboring the duality metaphor, I really do feel like this is a show constantly being pulled in two different directions at once. It seems like half the show loves to roll around in the blood and perversion of vigilante serial murder, while the other half wishes it'd picked a more innocuous crime, like art theft or securities fraud. Half of it wants Hidaka to be a right cold bastard who deals Mochizuki a lot of serious damage, and the other half wants to keep him always on the side of the line where he never does anything unredeemable. Half of it wants this to be a sexy queer exploration of gendered expectations through suddenly different bodies, and the other half wants to play a straight PG-13 bodyswap comedy. Half of it wants to be Hannibal, and the other half wants to be Freaky Friday.

And where it all lands is ... well, in the middle.

Obviously my general disappointment with the show's eventual final form has not left me heartbroken. To the contrary, I've had a lot of fun thinking about it afterward, both pondering what was actually on the screen and having imagination adventures about how I would have done it differently. That, to me, is fun. I enjoy this. Like the Maxx said, the shows in my mind are almost always better.

I might have been a little more put off by the lack of my ideal resolution if the show had required more of a commitment from me, but no, it gets things done in ten one-hour episodes, which makes it a great small-medium bite. You can knock this one out pretty quickly, and then have all the time in the world left for thinking about how things could have been different if the show had not taken the Goldilocks approach to its queer serial murder bodyswap setup. The Hump of Compelling Mediocrity strikes again!

Up for a watch?

As I mentioned earlier, both Viki and Netflix have this one!

No joke, I hope people read this, get enticed by the horny potential of it, watch the show, go a little feral for what fits into those silences I mentioned, and write some dang sexy fanfic for me to enjoy. There's only one piece of anything on AO3 about it! One! One is not a sufficient number of things! Especially not with this promising of a setup. Come on, fellow perverts. We can do better.

Aw, look, they're so cute when they get to be themselves.

[marylily-my-beloved]

Marauders head canons (love language edition) P2: the boys

P1: here (yes I did make the P2 two months later.)

James. James. James. He would be into very extravagant gestures and gifts, and everything really. He would always love gifting people really nice fancy (expensive) stuff, and would always do big events. Completely opposite though, he would loveee simple guestures, simple touches just whenever he’s out with his significant other, simple birthday party’s, barely any events, he just wants to be loved in silence.

Sirius wouldn’t really be much into the grand guestures, more small diy gifts or anything that makes him think of his partner. Also like just random un-sirius gifts he thinks they’ll love (eg: he got Remus a crescent moon earring bc he hates the full moon but loves the moon when it’s not full). He would love physical touch when given to him, it’s like this thing where he truly only feels comfortable with a partner if he lets them casually touch him, and it just makes him melt into a puddle.

Remus would always show his love by doing the most random things ever. Whether that is making his lover a flower crown of their favourite flower, or holding their hand whenever he could. You name it, he did it. Remus would always want his partner to feel valued in any way and every way. He would love being touched, it would make him feel really loved, like every time of touch imaginable (even sometimes violent touches :() would make him feel less insecure about himself, and feel like he deserved to be loved, because he always thought he didnt deserve to be held, to be touched.

Regulus. Is. A. Cuddler. That’s it, he loves cuddling and loves to be the little small spoon. Not just that actually, he also loves quality time, both ways, spending time with his partner because he feels that’s the only way to truly appreciate someone. He also finds it really special whenever someone gives him something because he’s barely ever gotten gifts from people, especially from his ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’ and he also loves getting random weird DIY shit like he eats that up.

Peter would love doing stuff for his Partner, like he would always be a actions of service (?) kind of guy. You ask him FOR anything and he would do it, no matter how vile or weird or funny. He would do anything to show his love and appreccation because nobody rlly did that for him growing up. He would love TOUCH, TOUCH TOUCH TOUCH TOUCH TOUCH. Cuddling, hugging, hand holding, and also the occasional hand on shoulder bc he is either shorter or taller than his partner.

BARTY CROUCH... JR. Biter. Wound maker (with consent). Touches both soft and light and comforting, and also like biting. Both ways. That's all you need to know about that smart ass (and fine ass) man.

EVAN MF ROSIER. Kill me if you please, but this man would give GIFTS that are the most random and vile and weird gifts but they would be so cuteeeeee. Like imagine his partner gettinga wisdom tooth necklace with his wisdom teeth or smth, like weird digusting but also omgg like he did that, for his partner so yeah. He would feel appreciated and loved when his partner would spend time with him, doing anything, baking, sleeping, watching movie, staring at each other when having a friend dinner, chilling on their phones watching tiktoks, killing ppl together. The works.

FRANK. Frankly I have a feeling that Frank would be so into just downright praising people, or like affirming them. Even if they weren't dating he would just go like 'Aww thanks, you did amazing! You're so good at this babes!" and then he wonders why everybody is in love with him... He would love just telling people that they're good ppl, or they're amazing or affirming them bc it's in his blood and viens (projecting again...) and he would just love showing his LOVE AND ADMIRATION through words! He would also need the exact same thing back though, poor guy frankly can't live without ppl telling them they love him (same man same). He also loves winning quidditch games for his partner, like those basketball guys who are like 'this ones for you' and they acc make it? lol.

[torturingpeople]

OC SMASH OR PASS

RULES: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

i was tagged by @letters-of-fire! thank you so much ^_^ @staring-at-my-keyboard and @your-friend-s-santos i nominate you both :-)

Edison Hollingsworth, the Sybaritic Laureate

AGE: 34

GENDER: Male (?)

SEXUALITY: Pansexual Demiromantic

PROS:

extremely skilled and ridiculously experienced on account of his job literally being a prostitute

very comfortable with him body and with anything you wish to do to it

can be a top or a bottom depending on what you want! usually he tops but you can get him to submit occasionally

very high stamina. can go for hours if you can keep up with that!

he's really sexy. obviously. i mean Look at him. he has MOLES. EVERYWHERE.

open to anything - all genders, threesomes/groups, kinks - and wrt that doesn't have many boundaries to being involved with him

big on dirty talk, likes to fill the silence with it

will probably write poems about you

never goes past a no-strings-attached casual surface-level relationship

a god at reading body language and will know what you want way before you ask for it

will work hard to treat you or buy you gifts occasionally when he can

???:

biter. will bite

doesn't stop yapping he will talk your ear off in the bedroom

massive tease. links with the talking thing

threesomes can be a bit tense after if it was an existing couple

very stubborn. you can get him to sub but i wish you good luck with that

often attempts to get his clients drunk or high before working with them

extremely flirtatious with everyone i.e. you are not special

50/50 chance that he's manic during work and will probably say something mildly frightening to you in a toxic yaoi kind of way

CONS:

The Scandal

likes it best when you're terrified of him and will actively work to scare you just for his sport and profit

will publish details about everything you did and what you like in the papers ESPECIALLY if you're rich or upper class because he thinks its funny and it pays

shit at aftercare. will kind of just Clear himself up and 99% of the time will fuck off 2 minutes after you're both done

obviously not loyal. (if you're polyamorous i suppose this isn't a con but. You know)

reckless as fuck and loves the adrenaline from fear so will likely put you, himself, or both of you in some sort of harm's way for the sake of his own enjoyment

severely mentally ill. psychotic and obsessive. will probably get weirdly religious at some point

will probably stalk and harass you for a few weeks, especially if you don't contact him at all after

will hound you for payment if you were a client and he thinks you didn't pay what you owe him

needs to be told no 62 times before it stops meaning "try again later" or "convince me"

mr wines will 99% of the time not allow you to pursue a relationship with him past the parlour of virtue. getting into a serious relationship is virtually impossible

he will approach you in public if he sees you and expect you to be friendly which. again. The Scandal

definitely open to blackmailing you with things you don't want getting out about you in order to attend society events and the like

addicted to alcohol, honey, tinctures, vigours, the WORKS

if you don't devote your entire life to him and pledge to kill the neath in order to keep his affection he'll assume you don't care about him

severe abandonment issues. if he wants you to stay he will beg for it desperately like a homeless dog

broke as fuck and 99% of his money is stolen by mr wines. the other 1% pays a fraction of his rent

0 standards and will fuck anyone and everyone

[yanderes-galore]

Raphael (TMNT 2012) with your prompts 14, 52, and 62?

Alright! I decided to try and show Raph's softer side more than his sadistic side in this, although I struggled a bit with the prompts due to my Raph being different so up to you to see how well things went! ^^

I think I did a plot similar to this but I'm not sure, let me know what you think! This is essentially the other way I think of Yandere Raph.

Yandere! 2012! Raphael Prompts 14, 52, 62

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

"My world's covered in darkness without you!"

"I must know everything about you!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Fears of abandonment, Kidnapping, You're already in a relationship, Delusional Raphael, Isolation, Angst probably, Dehumanization, Sense of ownership, Dubious relationship turned forced, Darling still loves him or you can say it's Stockholm syndrome.

Losing someone you care about makes some desperate. Desperation makes drastic decisions. Especially with someone as volatile as Raphael.

Ever since Spike became Slash and left Raph behind, he's never been the same. When it came to you he was always... different. Before Slash he treated you like you were a person, his partner whom he adores.

It was when Slash left that he obtained a different view towards you.

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

Paranoia at the fact you might leave him began to rear its ugly head. Not only that but he started to treat you similarly to the pet box turtle he originally adored. Slowly you went from becoming his partner... to a pet.

Raphael always kept you locked in his room. He treated the outside world like it was too dangerous, like he couldn't let you free. Raphael did not want to let you go... just like how he was with Spike.

Others knew Raphael as volatile and unpredictable, a mutant with anger issues. While you have seen that side too... there's another one. Raphael can be softer and more vulnerable at times.

Ever since he lost Spike and made you the replacement, he's been more emotional. His rage sometimes burns brighter but he's also actively seeking comfort. He's lost and the idea of that would make you sad because you truly loved him at one point in time.

But you yearn for freedom more than anything.

"Baby, I can't let you out... I need to keep track of you." Raphael claims in an attempt to rationalize his actions. "I must know everything about you!"

"I'm not a pet, Raph... I don't want to be in the dark anymore." You try to plead with him, eying the closed door behind you.

"... You know I can't lose you. If I let you go, you won't come back.... I can't do that, I love you too much."

"Why do you see me as another Spike?" You spit, pulling at the chain on your leg. "I think you even treated him better than this...."

"Shut up!" Raphael barks, you swore you saw tears. "Don't say his damn name! You mean so much more to me than him! You won't leave me like him, either!"

Raphael's tone is dangerous. He sounds just about on the edge of snapping. You've fought before... but now you can't just walk away until he cools down.

You're stuck.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry... I won't bring him up." You drop your hostility in hopes of calming the beast in front of you. Funny how he treats you as an animal when he's the monster.

In fact, in hopes to calm the burning fire in Raph, you force yourself to do something you've done early on in your relationship. You stand up slowly and sit yourself on his bed. You watch his green gaze follow you before patting down beside you.

Raph appears to calm when he realizes what you're doing. You remain still like taming a wild animal as he crawls onto the bed at lays beside you. You then allow him to lay on top of you with a huff.

There's silence except for the occasional sound outside of his room in the sewer. The turtle buries his face into you and tightens his grip. Deep down... Raphael is just as soft as any other.

You just need to feed into it to keep the beast at bay.

"My world's covered in darkness without you." You hear Raphael say quietly. Deep down, despite what he's done, you still feel your heart crack at his words. You just wished he never snapped.

You say nothing and hold him closer. Somewhere in your heart you really do still love him. Part of you wonders if that will ever change.

You just wish you could fix things, but truthfully, you probably cannot.

"Will you ever remove the chains?" You ask him in your own soft tone. This time it's his turn to be silent. As a result you only stroke the back of his shell.

Even now you find comfort in these moments...

It makes you feel less alone... just like him.

[whatthefishh]

Okay, how about Din + surprise party + "aren't you my gift?" In which Din remembers readers' birthday and goes out of his way to do a little something for you in his ship with the child. Just you three. Maybe Din gets you a gift, and reader then says dialogue prompt, which can either be fluffy or lead to smut, your choice!!

We already spoke about this, but here it is again 🤡🤡 I'm excited! Thanks, love 😘😘

Helloooo bb, I have written… something lol. It’s not exactly smut but it mentions their intimacy. I hope you like it!! 💕

Birthday series part 6.

Love Language

Din walks behind you, his large gloved hands covering your eyes and the cool touch of his chest plate against your back as he guides you through the Razor Crest. He didn’t tell you what he was up to when you weren’t allowed in the cockpit, him and the kid spending half an hour having a ‘private conversation’, so you went to take a long needed shower and freshen up. After donning a clean pair of clothes, not that you had several to choose from, you emerged from the fresher with Din standing right in front of the doorway. You scream at the imposing figure, not expecting him to be right outside the door, looking just about ready to attack.

To be fair, he always looked ready to strike, intimidating especially in his full armor, the height he had on you not helping. Maker, how did you ever get past his hard exterior to find his heart?

Months of you being his live-in mechanic and occasional babysitter had the two of you spending a lot of time in close quarters, filled with companionable silence for the most part. You did most of the talking, sharing about your previous jobs or funny memories, finding him a rather good listener. The man hummed and grunted when necessary, modulator adding an extra gravely layer to his already low timbre.

When you started opening up about your more intimate memories, little things that made you happy or things you missed, like a comfort food, he would go silent, making you think he wasn’t interested in what you had to share. That is, until he would slowly start bringing you things back from his ventures into the city, when he’d leave you with Grogu to collect supplies or a bounty chip. Din would sometimes return with a trinket, or a snack, always referring back to a (one sided) conversation you’d had with him, tossing the package in your hands as he boarded the ship with a short, “you look like you could use this,” muttered to you.

He was very subtle in the time leading up to where the lines blurred between friendly professionals and … whatever you would call your relationship now. You don’t even fully know when the energy shifted from comfortable silence to the tension you felt when he returned from his hunting, knowing he needed to let off some steam and that sooner or later he’d be climbing into your bunk for some sweet release. You haven’t seen his face in the light before, your eyes barely making out shapes in the dark as he removed his helmet, allowing his mouth to worship you, peeling you apart one orgasm at a time.

At some point you must have shared some basic personal details with him. He stopped outside the cockpit, hands leaving your eyes, and you felt more than saw the whoosh of the doors sliding open for you.

“Okay, open. I know it’s not anything like you told me but I thought, well. We thought you’d like it.”

You were rendered speechless. Flowers from the last planet you’d visited were scattered around the ship, vines holding various buds hanging from the ceiling, making you feel like you were back in the forest on your home planet. The harsh contrast between the delicate blooms scattered across the metal of the ship and the intimidating figure that was the Mandalorian was an image that would stick with you for a long time to come. Grogu sat in his usual spot in the cockpit, cooing at you from his low vantage point as you took in the efforts they put in to celebrate your birthday.

You had almost forgotten, if you were being honest. The days felt like a blur sometimes, what with the light speed and constant traveling. Somehow, Din had remembered you mentioning the nearing date in passing a few days prior and prepared all of this for you.

In your usual seat sat a bundle of fabric, clearly holding a lopsided object in its depths and you concluded this must be a gift for you. Din had gotten you a gift. For your birthday, which you didn’t even expect him to celebrate with you. And the kid was in on it. You were holding back tears, not wanting to cry in front of the hunk of metal waiting behind you.

“You really shouldn’t have. This is wonderful, Din.”

“Open it.”

Reaching forward to lift the fabric off the object, you don’t know what you were expecting as a gift from Din but you should’ve known. Leave it to the lethal bounty hunter to get you a weapon as a birthday gift. Under the bindings you found a vibroblade, small enough that it wouldn’t be hard for your unpractised hands to yield but big enough to cause harm should you need to defend yourself.

Shaking your head you turn around and look at him, holding the blade limply in one hand.

“Aren’t you my gift?” You ask with a teary smile. You said you wouldn’t cry in front of him but he was making it rather difficult for you.

“Thought you’d like this. Besides, you needed a new weapon after stabbing that laserbrain on the last trip and losing your blade. Consider this an upgrade.”

He was right, you were left defenseless for the past little while due to an overly aggressive scavenger trying his luck with you and you having to resort to using brute force to get him to stop. Clearly, Din feels better with you having something to defend yourself with when he’s not available.

“Fine, I’ll accept this upgrade. Where did you get this anyway, aren’t they supposed to be hard to come by these days?” You ask, inspecting the blade further.

He made a non committal noise and waved off your question. You knew you weren’t going to get an answer out of him on how and where he’d acquired the blade. Putting the weapon down, you took in the scene again, still in awe of the pretty flower arrangements. The gift and the whole situation bring a giggle to your lips as you imagine Din in all his beskar glory hanging vines and various blooms for your sake and you turn to see the kid joining you in your laughter. The noises were cute enough for you to pick him up, spin him around and kiss his forehead, realizing belatedly that you still haven’t thanked Din for all his effort.

Putting Grogu down, you approach the imposing figure that you’ve come to love in a short amount of time and take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles gently and looking where you’d think his eyes are behind the dark helmet.

“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting anything and this is more than anything I could have dreamt.”

You draw his hand closer to your heart, unintentionally pulling all of him with it.

Your gaze is steady where you want to think his eyes are watching you as well, until he leans forward to rest his helmet on your forehead, still holding his hand to your chest.

You don’t expect him to say much else and he doesn’t, and you’re okay with that. You’re more than okay with all of it.