#There are too many guys turning dark because of someone else

[the-writerwoman]

Finally got round to writing! Just been busy 😂

Here’s the Drabble for the prompt I made myself of if Wade and Logan had a one night stand, and then Wade starts his new job the next day to find out that Logan is his boss!

I still need to write out chapter 4 of What we once were. I’ll try and get that out at some point today or tomorrow 😊

Lets go!

—————————

The bar was humming with quiet energy, the low-key, buzzing atmosphere made people feel like they could unwind or get into a little trouble. Wade strolled in, his sharp eyes scanning the room as he slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar. He ordered a whiskey neat and let his gaze wander, taking in the usual crowd. Couples leaning too close, coworkers unwinding after a long day, and a few loners nursing drinks.

That’s when he saw him.

Stood near the bar, drink in hand, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he surveyed the room was one of the most handsome men Wade had ever seen. His leather jacket looked well-worn, as though it had been through a lifetime of stories, and the subtle way his fingers curled around his glass gave off the impression of someone who knew how to handle himself. Wade couldn’t help but be intrigued. The guy looked serious, intense even, but there was something about him that screamed challenge.

Wade liked a challenge.

Grabbing his drink, Wade slid off his stool and made his way over, adopting a casual lean against the bar near him. He waited a beat for the man to glance his way, and when he didn’t, Wade decided to make his move.

“Hey there,” Wade began, his tone confident but playful. “You must be a magician, because every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

The man blinked, slowly turning his head to look at Wade. His dark eyes flicked over him, assessing, and for a moment, Wade wondered if he was about to get told to fuck off, which was quite common. To Wade’s delight, the man’s lips twitched, and he let out a low, unexpected chuckle.

“That usually work?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a sip of his drink.

Wade grinned, unflappable. “Depends on how many drinks the person’s had. You seem like a tough crowd, though, so I figured I’d start strong.”

The man shook his head, his smirk widening slightly. “Strong? That’s what you call that?”

“Oh, you think that’s bad?” Wade replied, leaning in just enough to close the space between them without crowding. “I’ve got worse. Wanna hear another one?”

The man tilted his head, as though debating whether to humor him. After a beat, he nodded. “Alright. Hit me.”

Wade straightened, his grin turning mischievous. “Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

The man actually laughed this time, a low, rumbling sound that sent a little thrill through Wade’s chest. “That’s terrible,” he said, shaking his head. “You really go around saying stuff like that to people?”

“Only the good-looking ones,” Wade shot back without missing a beat. “Lucky you, huh?”

The man took another sip of his drink, his smirk lingering. “You always this cheesy?”

“You have no idea,” Wade replied, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “But hey, at least I made you laugh. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

The man gave him a long, measuring look, as though trying to figure him out. “It does,” he admitted finally. “Most people don’t even try to talk to me, let alone… whatever this is.”

“It’s called charm,” Wade said with mock seriousness. “Look it up. But don’t worry, I’m here to make up for all those missed opportunities.”

The man shook his head, clearly amused despite himself. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Stick around, and you’ll find out just how much ‘something else’ I can be,” Wade said with a wink.

The man regarded him with a thoughtful look before deciding on something. He stuck out his hand.

“Logan.”

Wade grinned like he won a prize. He clasped Logan’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Wade.”

The drinks kept coming, and with each one, their conversation grew easier, more comfortable. Wade talked about his favorite terrible movies, his inexplicable love for pineapple on pizza (“Don’t judge me—it’s a bold choice, like me!”), and the time he accidentally got locked in a walk-in freezer for an hour during his first job. Logan, in turn, shared snippets of his life, his love of the outdoors, his tendency to collect books he never quite found the time to read, and his fondness for classic rock.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” Wade said at one point, swirling his drink. “I figured you for the silent, mysterious type. Turns out you’re kind of an open book.”

Logan smirked. “Only for the people who bother to read.”

Wade leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Well, I hope you’ve got a long sequel planned, because I’m hooked.”

Logan chuckled, his gaze lingering on Wade for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re relentless,” he said again, but there was no edge to it this time. Just quiet admiration.

“Only when it’s worth it,” Wade replied softly, the usual teasing edge in his voice replaced with something more genuine.

By the time the bar began to wind down, the two of them had migrated to a corner booth, their drinks forgotten as they talked about anything and everything. Logan leaned back against the worn leather, his posture more relaxed than it had been all night, while Wade gestured animatedly as he recounted another ridiculous story from his past.

“You’re something else,” Logan said finally, his voice low but warm.

Wade’s grin widened. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“It is,” Logan said simply, his gaze steady. “A big one.”

For once, Wade was momentarily speechless, the sincerity in Logan’s tone catching him off guard. He quickly recovered, though, flashing a cheeky smile. “Careful, Logan. That could be classed as flirting.”

Logan leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Maybe I am.”

The air between them shifted, the playful banter giving way to something quieter, more charged. Wade felt his heart skip a beat, but he played it off with a soft laugh. “Well, lucky for you, I’m into it.”

Logan chuckled, nodding toward the door. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Wade arched an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’re making the moves? Bold. I like it.”

Logan smirked, standing and grabbing his jacket. “Let’s just say you’ve charmed me into seeing where this goes.”

Wade laughed, following him out of the bar. “Oh, Babycakes, you have no idea what you’ve signed up for.”

As they stepped into the cool night air, Wade felt a rush of excitement unlike anything he’d felt in a long time.

~~

Wade woke up to the faint light of early morning, the blue between night and day, casting soft shadows over the room. For a moment, he didn’t move as he stared at the ceiling. His body still ached pleasantly from the night before, and he felt a warmth in his chest that he wasn’t used to. A warmth that had everything to do with the man sleeping beside him.

Turning his head, Wade looked at Logan. He was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, his face soft and peaceful. He looked younger like this than he did last night, the hard edges of last night smoothed out by sleep. Wade smiled despite himself, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and trace the curve of Logan’s jaw.

But then reality hit.

This was just a one-night thing, Wade reminded himself. A bit of fun. That’s all it was meant to be. Logan didn’t strike him as the type to be looking for anything serious, and Wade wasn’t exactly great at sticking around when things got complicated. Better to leave now before there were any awkward goodbyes or lingering looks that could mess things up.

Carefully, Wade slipped out from under Logan’s arm, holding his breath as he moved. Logan stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but didn’t wake. Wade quickly pulled on his clothes, glancing around the room as he debated leaving a note.

No. Better clean break. He didn’t want to risk Logan feeling obligated to reach out just because Wade left something behind.

With one last glance at Logan, still sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware, Wade slipped out of the apartment and into the cool morning air.

~~

Logan woke a few hours later, stretching lazily as the memories of the night before came flooding back. A small smile tugged at his lips as he rolled over, expecting to find Wade still there.

But the bed was empty.

Logan blinked, his smile faltering as he reached out, his hand landing on the cool, rumpled sheets. He sat up, glancing around the room. “Wade?” he called, his voice rough from sleep.

There was no response.

He got out of bed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants as he wandered through the apartment. The living room was empty, the bathroom door was wide open, and the kitchen was untouched. It didn’t take long for the realization to sink in. Wade was gone.

Logan’s heart sank as he leaned against the kitchen counter, running a hand through his hair. He’d had such a good time last night. Not just the physical part, though that had been incredible, but the way Wade had made him laugh, the way they’d clicked so effortlessly. He’d been looking forward to seeing where it might go, maybe even suggesting breakfast together.

But there was no note, no message, not even a phone number left behind. Just the empty echo of the best night he’d had in a while.

Logan sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee and staring out the window. Disappointment settled heavy in his chest, and though he tried to shake it off, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d read things wrong. Maybe Wade had just been looking for a bit of fun, nothing more.

Still, as Logan sipped his coffee, he couldn’t quite shake the hope that their paths might cross again. Because if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that Wade had left an impression, one Logan wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon.

~~

Wade adjusted his tie nervously, still feeling the faint sting of guilt from slipping out of Logan’s apartment the previous morning. But he pushed it to the back of his mind. New day, new start, he told himself. Today was his first day at a new job, a marketing company that seemed promising, with good pay and plenty of room for growth. He was determined to make a good impression and keep his focus on work.

He was shown to his cubicle, a small but tidy space surrounded by the usual buzz of office life. Wade spent a few minutes setting up his desk, arranging his pens and notebooks just so, before logging into his computer. He was just starting to familiarize himself with the company software when, about an hour later, a meeting was called.

“Conference room, nine sharp,” a colleague said, leaning over the edge of Wade’s cubicle. “Everyone on the team’s required.”

Wade nodded, grabbing a notebook and pen before joining the stream of employees heading toward the meeting room. He took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and walked inside.

And immediately froze.

Standing at the front of the room, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit that clung to him in all the right ways, was Logan. His hair was neatly styled, his broad shoulders filling out the jacket perfectly, and he exuded an air of authority that made Wade’s stomach flip.

Logan noticed him almost instantly, his eyes widening briefly in shock before he quickly schooled his expression into a mask of professionalism. He turned his attention to the boss at the head of the table, his jaw tight but otherwise unreadable.

Wade felt his blood drain from his face as he took a seat near the back, his mind racing. No. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. He’d known he was starting a new job, but he hadn’t known Logan worked here. And from the looks of it, Logan wasn’t just an employee, he was in charge.

As the meeting began, Wade’s stomach sank further when the boss at the head of the table introduced himself and began outlining the company structure. Wade quickly realized the man speaking wasn’t his direct boss. He was the head of the department. And his actual boss, the person who’d be overseeing his team directly, was none other than Logan.

Wade swore silently in his head. Of all the jobs in the city…

He avoided looking at Logan throughout the meeting, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his notebook and scribbling aimlessly. But he could feel Logan’s gaze on him every so often, and the weight of it made his skin prickle.

When the meeting finally ended, Wade bolted for the door, keeping his head down as he made his way back to his desk. His heart was pounding, and his mind was spinning with the sheer absurdity of the situation.

[just-somedude]

"In my villain arc" -The guy who got cheated on and dumped by a girl he was head over heals for

Bro, you need to heal, you can get shredded in the gym and still have a big heart. Process your emotions and learn to move on from them, don't just block everything out and destroy your mental health by ignoring the world and working out

[creatingblackcharacters]

No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

“It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

[kngrose]

Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

includes caitlyn jayce victor vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : decided to pair these guys up because there was sooooo many requests for them! ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change.  The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near. 

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more. 

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with.  You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval. 

 The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

 Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

 The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

 At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

 You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

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[asapeveryday]

Breath Me In

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Warnings: Smut (Fingering), weed, alcohol

Summary: Uconn’s end of summer party brings you all sorts of highs.

A/n: can you tell I like party settings??? Anyways. We need more fics of Paige receiving instead of always giving pls!! Someone please this girl!

Summer is coming to a close. Long August days turn to colder September nights, and the students of Uconn have mostly moved in for the new semester. A new year of college calls for a party.

Uconns annual end-of-summer party was an absolute staple to attend for seniors, richer students who lived in housing nearby often responsible for hosting. Summery rap and pop blasting, coolers and twisted tea by the gallons, string lights in big green backyards, patio furniture overrun by couples making out or slowly sobering up. It was a sight to behold, and you relished in the feeling of this, the beginning of the end of school.

When you make your way throughout the house, various people stop to talk to you, including the hostess herself.

Stella DeSantos is a trust fund girl who’s in her senior year for sports marketing, and this years lucky party organizer. She has the means, obviously, because the house is massive.

“So… gonna start the year off with some dick or what?” She laughs, already tipsy.

You just smile and shake your head. “I’m chill right now.” Is your reply. Honestly you just didn’t want to pull the ‘id rather have pussy’ card on her.

The girl swings an arm around you. “I could set you up with some really athletic guys if that’s your thing.” She hiccups. “Want a drink?”

She thrusts a mango white claw into your hand and you take it reluctantly. As much as you loved getting wasted the party was a bit too rowdy to feel comfortable. You were desperately searching for someone you knew well enough to hang out with that wasn’t already drunk, with no luck.

You stick by Stella for a while, standing by as she greets people and gets drunker by the minute. You’re still holding the same White-claw, though it’s mostly empty.

You’re scoping out the scene yourself, the house is filled with kids you’ve been in school with for the past years. Your gaze stops in the kitchen, where two girls reside. One tall with dark skin, hair slicked back and clothes baggy. You’d had classes with Aubrey Griffin before, she was intimidating but attractive.

The other girl was paler and slightly shorter, blonde hair tied back into a bun and glasses on her face.

“Paige!” Stella calls out, as if sensing your thoughts. She makes her way over to the two girls and you awkwardly follow behind. Everyone knows Paige Bueckers. She’s one of those students, everyone mostly likes her and she’s friends with all the right people. It puzzled you how someone so gay still attracted so many guys.

Stella talks to Aubrey and Paige, and they politely engage despite obviously being thrown off by how drunk she is. Their shared looks almost make you laugh. You take this as a chance to get a good look at Paige. She mostly stayed out of trouble or tough rumours, and kept to her main group of friends, so aside from her talent on the court you knew almost nothing.

You let yourself stare at her, noting her blue eyes, long lashes and wide smile. She carried herself confidently, but looked uncomfortable.

Finally she turns to meet your eye, and when her tongue flashes out to wet her lips you physically feel something in your stomach drop.

“You her babysitter or something?” She smirks.

“You’d think she knows how much she can handle by now.” You scoff. Stella barely notices, fully talking to Aubrey.

Paige’s eyes dart to the drink in your hand. “Good luck finding a ride home tonight.”

Before you can respond, maybe by telling her your name or sparking better conversation, Stella’s attention is drawn somewhere else and she starts to drag you away.

You turn to get one last look at Paige, and internally celebrate when your eyes meet.

-

As the summer sun finally began to set, it got a little too cold for everyone to be outside. The inside of the house was absolutely packed, the music was louder and the air was thicker. The smell of smoke and sound of people was starting to irritate you, but for whatever reason you didn’t want to leave just yet.

Stella was nowhere to be found and you were sitting on the kitchen counter next to some other girls, quietly sipping some drink while listening in to conversations. The original plan of staying mostly sober was ruined by your boredom, and though you weren’t drunk you felt significantly warmer and a little more confident.

“Oh, it’s you again.” A voice says. You turn to see it’s Paige and your heart skips a beat.

“I have a name.” You reply, not caring if you come off rude. She doesn’t seem to care either, just raising her eyebrows at you. “And it is?”

You tell her your name and she repeats it to herself with a smile. “I’m Paige.”

“I figured.” You laugh. The alcohol was making everything seem like less of a deal, had you talked to her more before you probably wouldn’t have been so casual.

“You drunk?” She asks, leaning against the counter across from you. At this angle you’re pretty much looking down at her, she looks cuter with her eyes wide and head tilted slightly upwards. You almost let your imagination get ahead of you.

“Getting there. You?”

Paige shakes her head no. “You don’t seem like much of a drinker.”

With a shrug, you say “This party is less fun than I thought it would be.”

“I’m gonna head outside if you’re tryna come.” She shrugs back.

You hop off of the counter and are reminded of the fact that Paige isn’t short. She seems happy that she’s not looking up at you anymore.

“Sure, why not.” You smile.

She leads you to the backyard and the sudden quiet is surprising. The music is muffled and the air is fresher, it’s a beautiful night and the yard is empty for the two of you. Paige heads straight for the pool, sitting down by the edge of the deep end and taking off her shoes, letting her legs dangle in the water. You join her and do the same.

“So you came to a party and you’re not drinking or getting high?” You ask her.

“Ah ah,” she smirks. “I’m getting high for sure, jus had to be a little sneaky. You can keep a secret, right?” Paige tilts her head at you, and you almost melt right there and then.

“I’m great at keeping secrets.” You eye her, tilting your head like she does. “But can all those people?” You gesture to the kids inside the house.

“Everyone in there is gonna be too drunk to remember me sneaking out for a blunt with a girl.” She finally breaks eye contact, reaching into her pocket for a tin of pre-rolled blunts.

She said ‘with a girl’ like her being with you could be a topic of conversation. The thought makes your mind race.

When Paige lights up and gets the first hit, her whole composure loosens.

The blue from the pool water reflecting onto her face, the slight glow of the blunt against her lips, the way she blows the smoke afterwards. It’s driving you insane.

You stare at your legs in the water, her pale ones next to yours. The night is beautiful. She’s beautiful. You wonder if she’ll remember anything tomorrow.

“Want sum?” Paige interrupts your thoughts, holding out the blunt. You know you shouldn’t mix weed with alcohol, but your heart is buzzing and her lips had already been on it, so you can’t say no.

Taking it from her nimble fingers (which you cursed yourself for even noticing) you inhale, letting the smoke fill you up before letting out a long breath, trying to ignore her sharp eyes on you.

“I’m surprised I haven’t noticed you around before.” She says, taking back the blunt. You let the statement linger in the air. For every hit you take, she takes three. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are already slightly pink.

“Are you not the noticing type?” You ask.

Paige’s eyes meet yours. “Are you?”

You laugh and take the blunt from her, holding the smoke in before tilting your head back and blowing it into the night sky.

“I notice a lot of things.” you say, glancing at her lips before meeting her eyes again.

“Oh yeah?” She says quietly, analyzing your features. If it weren’t for the drinks and the weed, you would’ve felt like prey under her watch.

“Yeah.” You match her tone.

She’s closer than you remember her being. The air smells like weed and chlorine, but she smells like summer.

Nobody says anything, you just keep passing the blunt.

“What was your first time getting high like?” You ask her.

“Freshman year, me and some other girls on my team decided we were gonna do it together.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “Don’t know why we started with edibles, but we were still high the next morning.”

“Oh shit.” You laugh.

“Yeah,” she huffs “and we had practice that afternoon, must’ve gone through like 3 bottles of eye drops each. What about you?”

“Senior year of high school.” You cringe and she smiles at your expression. “My girlfriend- at the time, was kind of addicted. Didn’t seem like a big deal then, but she begged me to smoke and I did. It was whatever.”

“Girlfriend?” She asks.

“You’re surprised?” You chuckle. “Shit, you really don’t notice anything.”

“Shut up.” She flicks your shoulder. “Any girlfriend now?”

“Fuck no.”

“I feel that.” She blows smoke into the crisp air. There’s a moment of comfortable silence, you looking into the water and her looking at you, before she finally says “Can I try something?”

“Like what?” You ask.

You can tell her thinking is slightly hazy, she’s moving slower and her eyes are tired, it’s attractive.

“Lemme jus show you…don’t freak.”

Paige takes a hit, then leans into you. In an instance her lips are on yours, prying you open and exhaling smoke into your mouth, then she pulls away. You resist the urge to choke, but manage to exhale smoothly. Your lips tingle where she made contact with you, and you feel your face get red at her expression. Paige is practically entranced.

“Little warning would’ve been better next time.” You cough.

“We can try again if you want.” She smirks, and you roll your eyes.

Once again Paige takes a hit then leans into you, this time placing her hand on your face. She huffs the smoke inside your mouth and you gladly take it, now knowing what to expect. When she pulls away you don’t turn your head, you just blow out the smoke, letting it cloud both your vision and hers. When it clears she’s staring dead at your lips.

Her lips meet yours again, this time without any weed. She’s taking her time with you, tongue exploring your mouth attentively, one hand still on your face while the other finds your thigh.

Her hands are calloused and controlled against your skin, her glasses bump your face as you kiss her. Her lips are soft.

You let your hands wander too, dancing under her black t-shirt and gripping her waist. You can feel her abs, toned from her athletic lifestyle. You can only imagine the things you could do with her abs alone.

Her hand leaves your thigh and meets yours under her shirt, gripping your wrist she guides you to her sports bra, letting you get under it and feel her breasts.

She sighs into your mouth when you lightly pinch her nipples, her usually confident voice now almost needy.

Paige’s kisses trail down to your neck, licking and biting into your soft skin. You let your fingers ghost against her until they reach the waistband of her sweatshorts.

“Can I?” You whisper, eager to feel her.

“Fuck, yes.” She murmurs against you, sucking beautifully painted hickeys from your neck to your collarbone.

When your fingers rub her through her boxers you can hear her breathing change, and it’s doing things to you. Rubbing slow circles on her clit, you feel yourself getting wet.

“You let every girl down your pants, Paige?” You mumble. She stares up at you, eyes wide and bloodshot.

You relish in the way she bites her lip when your pace quickens, you can feel her slick through the boxer briefs and you can’t help but tease her. “So wet already…”

Finally you let your hand slip into her briefs, finding her entrance and teasing around her hole. Her hips jerk upwards, giving you room to move, offering herself to you. “Stop talking.” She grumbles, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

You connect with her lips again as your fingers finally dip inside of her, causing her to let a soft moan out. You realize suddenly that anyone inside the house could come outside and see you two, but with all the weed and alcohol you couldn’t care less, you couldn’t stop now, not when Paige was grinding against your fingers and letting out sweet whimpers into your mouth, her hands feeling you all over.

Breaking the kiss is the best decision you make, because you can actually see her. Her face is perfect, hair falling out of her bun, glasses sliding down her nose, her expression a sexy, needy pout, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.

You pick up the pace, pumping your fingers in and out of her and grinning as her whimpers get a little louder. The noise of her slick, her voice, the crickets outside and the muffled music is almost magical to you. Her blue eyes shining and glossy from the weed and the reflection of the water.

“Fuck.” She murmurs, covering her mouth. “Oh, fuck.”

Her hips are violently bucking now as you curl your fingers inside of her and use your thumb to apply pressure to her clit. Her eyes are screwed shut now, and you can tell she’s close.

“Gonna cum for me Paige? Cmon baby, let it out.”

She calls out your name, legs open and pussy throbbing against your fingers. Finally she loosens around you, reaching her orgasm.

She’s still clinging to your body and catching her breath when you pull your hand out from her shorts, licking your fingers like you’ve just finished a meal. Paige’s eyes are trained on your lips wrapped around the same digits that were just inside of her.

You just smile at her staring. “You good?” You ask her. She just chuckles and takes off her shirt. “I’m good. Might needa cool down though.” Paige eyes you as she slips into the pool.

You laugh and take your shirt off too, slipping into the cold water with her.

It’s a good night, filling your lungs with her, breathing Paige in.

[atrwriting]

selfish - frank castle x reader

hey y'all back in action with another porn no plot one shot

all i'm saying is,,, they knew who their target audience was with this (or are we just all mentally ill?)

summary: frank shows you what it means to be a real, selfish man.

informal warnings: frank is the selfish man in this, but I was the selfish woman writing this. couldn't get this out of my head as I started season two of the punisher, and frankly (haha get it -- sorry) after this scene you wouldn't be able to either

as always, the actual warnings: vulnerable frank, #sadboihrs for both the reader and frank, smut, porn no plot, choking, dirty talk, and ROUGH frank

anyway... selfish:

“what’s your type?”

the million dollar question. the one that you had been troubling yourself over for years.

“my type?” you repeated, eyeing the man who asked you. “or my pattern?”

he tilted his head in curiosity. “both.”

you chuckled. “my pattern… well, they’re usually useless. man babies.”

it was his turn to chuckle. “you like taking care of them, yeah?”

you shrugged. “i love taking care of people, but not men that de-age into babies as time goes on. did you know a guy i dated asked me how to boil water once?”

“you’re joking,” he took a swig of his beer, eyeing you. “no way that’s true. made that up.”

“i wish,” you laughed, rubbing a hand over your face. “i’m also not making it up that i stayed with him two years after that.”

“sounds like your fault.”

you nodded. “the pattern made me realize what my real type is.”

“what?”

“it’s corny.”

“say it.”

a smirk attempted to appear on your lips, but you pushed it back down. “i don’t like selfless men.”

he let out a laugh in disbelief at that. “you and every other chick.”

you chuckled too. “i heard this an analogy once… if you’re falling over a cliff, would you want your person to save you? or someone else about to fall on another side of the cliff?”

he stopped talking then, listening intently.

you kept going. “obviously, i’d want the other person saved… but in my head, when i’m all alone and there’s no one that has to be saved… sometimes it’s nice to think that someone would be so selfish that they would save me over doing what’s right.”

“you could live with that though?” he asked, narrowing his eyes, a bit of judgement lacing his words.

you shrugged. “never been the person that was saved, so i’m really not sure. it’s not that i want to be saved or anything — that’s super fucking corny. but man, a fucking masculine man, putting you over other things? deciding that in that moment, you’re what matters to him? i spend all my days being selfless, putting myself in danger so other people are saved… and i’m tired.” you took a swig of your drink. “i’m really fucking tired.”

“why don’t you save yourself, then?”

“for the same reason you’re here,” you sighed. “when have we ever been selfish, frank?”

he laughed at that, but almost scoffed. “i don’t do anything i do for anyone but me.”

you swallowed then, clenching your jaw. “so many people have wronged you… but you’ve only done what you’ve done because of how people have wronged those you loved. hate to break it to you… but you’re as selfless as anyone could be.”

he folded his lips underneath his teeth and stared aimlessly off into the distance. there were bags under his dark eyes, and no amount of sleep or beer would ever take them away. the man would never know peace, and your heart broke at that. however, it was nice to know someone was going down the rabbit hole with you.

“i don’t think i’m selfless,” he finally spoke after a bit.

you raised an eyebrow at him, calling his bluff.

“i did the things i did because my family was what was most important to me,” he admitted. “that’s selfish.”

you swished his words around in your mouth a little, and decided he was right. the spin on your words made you nod, agreeing with him. “i see your point.”

“so, what?” he asked. “you want a man that would choose you over innocent people?”

you huffed, standing. “i know you know that i never said that. i’m saying that in the back of my mind, it would be nice, just once, for a selfish man to decide that i’m all he wanted. it would be nice to know that i don’t always have to carry the weight on only my shoulders.”

he didn’t say anything then, staying planted on his seat on the floor. he twisted the bottle in his hands and listened to you.

“if i’m being honest with myself…” you began, swallowing your heavy statement. “i would prefer if they saved the innocents, but only so i could die, as i probably would falling in that situation, with a clear conscience. all i’m saying is… it’s a heavy fucking burden always doing things so i don’t feel guilty.”

you walked away then, not muttering a goodbye. frank didn’t say anything either. you heard him raise the bottle to his lips once more before you shut your bedroom door behind you.

it would be an hour or so before you heard a gentle knock on your door. there was no yelling or screaming outside, so you were grateful to hear there was no imminent danger present. in your tiny pajamas, you answered the door to find none other than frank. he was leaning against a wall in the hallway that led to your door, only a couple feet from you.

he didn’t say anything when you came face to face with him. he just stared at you, placing all of his focus on your confused face. it would be a few moments of silence before he finally stepped closer to you, and placed a calloused hand on your face.

you froze. frank castle never touched you, especially in that way.

“wanna know my type?”

you stared at him and swallowed thickly. your lips parted to whisper, “sure.”

“an escape,” he whispered back. “i know what you meant by always having the dark cloud of duty hanging above your head, ready to kill any moment of peace you happen to get your damned hands on. i’ve done everything i’ve ever done for the people i loved, and i know the only way for me to experience any fuckin’ joy is with another person.”

his dark eyes held your gaze, and you soon grew lost in them and his words. you swiped your tongue across your lips and stepped closer. you could feel frank’s breath on your chin, but you couldn’t breathe. his scent, his stare, and his fucking words were more intoxicating than any alcohol you had before.

“you want an escape, frank?” you softly asked, eyes darting to his lips.

“i do,” he stated, before he lowered his head and kissed you.

his free hand immediately came up to the other side od your face and pressed against your cheek. there, he held you in the palms of his hands as you rested your hands on his thick, muscled chest. his lips were dry and cracked, but you didn’t care. the fire that brewed from his affection was enough to fill any of the cold, dark, and lonely places inside of you and you greedily drank from anything he offered.

“you want someone to want you, darlin’?” he asked in between kisses.

you hummed in agreement, not wanting to break apart your kiss for anything — even words.

“can’t get you out of my head, sweetheart,” he spoke, dipping his tongue into your mouth. “need to feel those long legs around me.”

you whimpered at his words, letting his tongue dance with yours. you could taste the heineken on his tongue and savored every bit. “please, frank… i need to feel you so badly.”

“i’ve got you, darlin’.” he picked you up by the backs of your thighs and you wrapped your legs around him. the pads of frank’s finger tips dug into your flesh and a warmth spread throughout you. “those fuckin’ legs.”

you would’ve giggled, but you were too consumed with the very touch of frank to even care. you pulled at his shirt and threw it over his head, sad to break the kiss for even a second. you immediately went to his neck and began to nip at the thick skin, causing a growl to rumble in the deepest parts of his rib cage.

“y’drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he grunted. “sweetest fuckin’ kisses.”

“oh, frank…” you moaned against his neck before he threw you onto the bed. you turned over onto your back to face him. he locked eyes with you as he stood over you, muscles naturally flexed as he undid his belt. your mouth watered at the sight of the fucking man before you, taking off his belt for only you. the way his shoulders, pectorals, and arms worked in the dim light of your room… that man would be the death of you. you hissed, “you’re such a tease.”

he smirked at that, throwing the belt somewhere in the distance. “think you’ve just never been with a real man before,” he replied, before engulfing you into another kiss.

frank’s hand dipped into your shorts and immediately went for your slit. your body fucking sang at finally being touched the way you needed to be as you arched your back into frank, his chest pressed against yours. when frank began to run rough circles around your clit, nothing could hold back your moans or him swallowing them whole.

“only took off my belt, and this is how wet you get?” he asked, biting down on your neck. his long, thick middle finger dipped inside of you as his thumb worked at your clit. he tapped against your upper wall and you keened into his touch, whimpering his name. “now i know it’s the men before me. barely doing a fuckin’ thing and i’ve got you like this.”

you nodded pathetically, just wanting him to continue. “it feels so good,” you gasped, bucking your hips into his hand. “please, please — don’t stop, frank.”

he leaned over and pressed his chest against yours before his lips found your neck once more. his kisses were wet and sloppy, and there was nothing better than feeling the weight of a strong man above you working at your needy pussy. his rough movements against your sensitive skin were sending you into a frenzy as if nothing mattered in the world besides frank — your world started and ended there. your body felt hot — steaming from everything this man was doing for you with barely any effort. your whimpers and gasps fueled frank’s movements as if he couldn’t get enough of them.

“such a good girl f’me,” he said before he bit down on your neck and kissed the spot. “y’get so worked up, i want to see what it’s like when you fall apart.”

“i’m so close, frank…” your voice was hoarse and full of lust, and you were about to break any moment.

“that’s it, baby, yeah,” he spoke, slipping a second finger inside of you. “cum all over these fingers baby. let me taste you after.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck —!”

your world came crashing down onto you. your strength was no match for frank’s, but with the way your back arched and body curled into him, your chests both rose off the bed. he wrapped a strong arm underneath the curve of your back as you fucking sobbed his name, holding you to him and supporting your weight.

“that’s it, darlin’,” he grunted against your ear. “yeah — that’s it. keep cumming for me, fuck…”

your hands grabbed at his thick biceps and you grew lost in his movements against the most sensitive parts of you that never ceased. your hips were rolling in circles with his fingers and your vision went hazy.

“so beautiful like this f’me,” he groaned. “might be mean and not let you stop.”

“fuck, frank,” you cried, whimpering for him. your body fell limp against his arm, and he lowered your bodies back down to the bed. during your comedown, frank kissed at your neck as his free hand ran up and down your body. his other hand continued to rub against your pussy and it was driving you fucking crazy. “let me ride you — please.”

your voice was full of desperation, and frank smirked down at you. he slipped his fingers out of you and rolled off of you onto the bed. you tugged his pants down to his thighs, not wanting to waste any time. you were so greedy, but he didn’t care. he smirked as he watched you pull down your tiny shorts. you straddled him, pressing his chest to yours, as you sank down onto his thick cock.

“my fucking god —“ you gasped, your pussy stretching around him.

frank immediately grabbed your throat and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. he placed the tips of his fingers in his mouth, and tasted your juices that remained on his skin. there you were, impaled on his cock, hovering over him as you watched the most sensual thing you had ever seen him do. his dark eyes were locked on yours, but your lips parted as you watched him taste you. only a smirk remained on his lips.

“sweetest fuckin’ pussy i’ve ever tasted,” he spoke. “now show me how she rides me.”

he roughly pushed you upwards so you stood up straight. the angle made a whimper leave your lips, as he was now fully inside of you and the deepest anyone has ever been. you planted a limp hand on his stomach, and began to roll your hips against his.

his calloused hands found your hips as he threw his head back against the bed. the tendons in his neck were on full display as he stretched his head back as far as he could. the pleasure he felt was spreading all throughout his body, and he couldn’t help but go taut at the feeling. you watched his mouth fall agape and his eyes close as a moan pushed passed his lips.

the pads of his fingers dug into your hips and pushed you forward and back. even his fingers were strong and had control over you, and you couldn’t help but willingly give everything over to him. your whines filled the room, getting lost in your own pleasure with him. there was nothing like the sight of being thrown into vulnerable pleasure with the man under you, succumbing to your touch.

“fuckin’ god —“ he moaned, raising his head back up to keep his eyes locked on where your bodies connected. “never felt so fuckin’ good.”

his hoarse voice caused you to move faster as you ground your hips against his. his hands were rough and desperate as they pulled you up, down, back and forth — until you didn’t know which way was anything. all you knew were the directions of frank’s hands, and you followed in suit as he dragged you down another road of ecstasy.

“greedy fuckin’ pussy,” he groaned. “never enough for her, huh? needs more, even after what i did?”

“yes, yes,” you whimpered pathetically. “your cock feels so good, frank. so fucking good.”

“yeah, darlin’, that’s it,” he grunted, brown scrunching together. “such a good fuckin’ girl f’me.”

“fuck, frank — don’t say that,” you cried loudly, biting your lip. “feels too good when you say that — i can’t cum yet.”

he immediately reached for your neck and pulled you down to him. you gasped at his rough touch, but your hips never stopped. he bent his knees so your ass could bounce off of them, giving you more leverage. his cock curled deeper into you, hitting your cervix.

“oh my — god —“ you sobbed so close to his lips.

“nah, baby, that’s not how this works — you’re gonna take everything fuckin’ i give you,” he grunted. “i know y’want to be a good girl f’me, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah, yes —“ you were incoherent at this point, ready to tell frank anything he wanted to hear as he bucked his hips into yours. “frank, i’m so close — how —“

“love a needy pussy like this,” he spoke, pulling you closer by the throat for a kiss. “you gonna be good to me? you gonna cum around my cock?”

“fuck, yes —“ you sobbed. “i want you to cum with me, baby, fill me up.”

that set him off. he rolled both of you over before you even knew what was happening. he had you pressed against the bed, hand still around your throat. you grabbed at his arm, loving having the feeling of his strong muscles hold you down. you wrapped your legs around his back as he threw his hips into you. over, and over, he drove himself inside you.

“dirty fuckin’ girl,” he growled, biting down on the skin of where your neck and shoulder met.

that was it. that was how you crumbled a second time for frank that evening.

you fucking wailed his name.

you grabbed at every part of him you could, struggling to hold on for dear life. your body shook with convulsions as your pussy tightened around him, locking his cock in place. nothing could stop his strong hips as they continued to rut into you — riding out your second orgasm of that evening.

you fell back against the bed, fucked out and gasping for air pathetically. frank pressed several kisses to your neck before he stood up on his knees, leaving your weak body below him. you pushed yourself to your elbows with whatever strength you could muster. frank grabbed you by the hips and you watched him slam his hips into yours.

you watched his forehead scrunch as his mouth fell agape. his chin was almost tucked to his neck as his eyes never left where his cock fucked into you.

“use me just like that, baby,” you cried. “i want your cum inside me.”

his strong, trim body went taut as his orgasm hit him, and you watched hungrily as the man before you fell vulnerable to the only pleasure he could allow himself these days. you watched as his conscious mind slipped further and further into the sensation until every ounce of stress and exhaustion left his face. you couldn’t help but bite your lip in pride and satisfaction — knowing that you will never see a more beautiful sight like frank castle using your body to get off.

you fucking loved selfish men.

----

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN NOW EVERYONE GO WATCH THIS SCENE -L xox

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

Obsession

Tom Riddle X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: Mild language, Graphic, Smut, Toxic, Possessive, Protective, Angst, Fluff, Suggestive, Anger…

Prompt: Y/N Black is a mystery to many. She isn’t interested in making friends, only her studies. However, unbeknownst to many, one boy has piqued her interest——Tom Riddle. Little did she know, he had an obsession with her.

Sidenote: I did use some spells from the vampire diaries just for the heck of it. I may do a part two, but I’m not sure if it really needs it. I’ll leave it up to you guys!

Everyone seemed more chattier than usual. Maybe it was the upcoming Yule Ball or maybe it was because holidays were approaching. However, you hated the buzzing chatter, the obnoxious shouting, and all of the crowded halls. You had tried to go to the library as an escape from this madness, but everyone had infiltrated the library even.

You were the Scrooge that everybody was painfully aware of as you stormed through the halls with your books clutched to your chest. If you were a Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor, they would have laughed at the irked expression on your face. However, knowing you were a Slytherin strikes fear in many.

Not to mention you were a mystery to many. You were oh so quiet, along with a freakishly amount of smart, and an unearthly amount of beautiful. You chose to stick to yourself, choosing to not make any friends. You instead chose to have acquaintances in case a group project popped up, however you normally managed to worm your way out of that so you could work alone.

That was how you preferred doing things, alone. Other students have given up on trying to befriend you, seeing it as pointless. Guys would still try and ask you out, but their advances failed. They hadn’t noticed that your interest was piqued by a boy already. However, it seemed that he was just like you.

Tom Riddle was a handsome young man with jet black curly-ish hair and dark brown eyes that looked almost black from afar. He was fairly tall and had a lean look. His face was always blank…passive as he studied or walked through the halls or even when he was with his group of “friends”. They were his followers in his mind, not his friends. To anyone else, they saw them as a happy friend group.

You had noticed the things that anyone would pick up about Tom from afar, like his intelligence. Tom excelled in all of his classes, in fact he was tied at the top of the year with you. He too was introverted, preferring to be alone and in silence. For someone as passive as Tom, you noticed things he did. When he was judging something, he’d lean back in his chair, occasionally quirking an eyebrow as if he was impressed or annoyed.

When he was in a rather intuitive or creative mood, his eyes seemed to be a lighter shade of brown and he would get carried away in his journal. When he was thinking, he would zone out on his journal or something in the room.

You noticed that he’d clench his jaw until a muscle there ticked when he got angered. When he was annoyed, he had a tendency to sigh.

“Y/N!” Narcissa calls.

She stood among Tom Riddle and all of his “friends”. Tom’s eyes find you who was clearly irritated. You had made your way through the crowd and head towards her.

“Yes?” You ask.

“Hey, that is no way to talk to your favorite cousin.” Narcissa scolds.

“Who said you were my favorite?” You ask.

“It’s because it is me.” Bellatrix grins.

“Not you either.” You mutter.

“Moving on, have you seen Sirius or Regulus?” She asks.

“I’m not their keeper, Narcissa.” You mutter.

“They said they were meeting up with you.” She says, sighing in frustration.

“Well they didn’t. I need to get to class.” You mutter.

Before you could go, Bellatrix grabs your upper arm in a tight grip. You turn back to her with a clenched jaw as Narcissa steps back, muttering an “Uh-Oh”.

“Leaving so soon, cousin?” She mocks.

“Bellatrix, I’m warning you now to let go or you will regret it.” You warn calmly.

“What will you do? You're all goody two shoes, yet your in Slytherin. I think that dumb hat sorted you into the wrong house.” She says.

You pull your wand free, pointing it at her as you mutter “Stupefy”. You roll your eyes as she flies backwards through the crowd.

“If I wouldn’t get expelled, I would definitely crucio you or use the killing curse on you for your information. However, nothing is stopping me once we graduate.” You say, before turning and leaving the group stunned.

Tom smiles slightly as he watches you walk away, finding himself even more intrigued with you than he originally was. Call it an interest or maybe an obsession at this point. He liked to watch you when he could. He noticed things about you that he was sure no one else noticed.

He knew you were a quiet and mysterious girl, but underneath that “innocent” mask you wore, he knew there was a strong woman with a dangerous mind. You were far from innocent and today proved that more so to him. To anyone else, you were that innocent girl. However, when you let your guard down if you were stressed or angry or irritated, he could see the danger swirling in your (eye color) eyes.

He lets his smile fall, regaining his composure before turning back to his group. Bellatrix was back on her feet, a scowl on her face as Narcissa helped hold her up. He watches as Sirius and Regulus join them.

“What is wrong with you?” Sirius asks.

“Your bloody sister is what is wrong! She used stupefy on me!” She snaps.

“How pissed off did you make her?” Regulus chuckles, shaking his head.

“You both told me you were meeting with her about becoming a follower. Yet, she hasn’t seen either of you all day. So, where were you both off to?” Narcissa snaps.

“Have you seen how mad she can get? We learned not to mess around when she gets mad, Issa. When she is mad, she will take down anyone in her path. We’ve learned how to avoid making her mad. So, you go have that conversation with her because I rather not get crucio’d again.” Sirius says.

“Wow.” Avery mutters.

“She may be quiet and keeps to herself, but Y/N is a ticking time-bomb when you make her mad. She is intelligent, and maybe too intelligent for her own good. She also liked being stronger than others in magic, so that is why she studies so hard. However, because she is so antisocial and introverted, even as a child before Hogwarts, she took her studies serious, so she doesn’t understand fun. She is boring.” Sirius says.

“I bet she hasn’t ever shagged anyone, or snogged! A sixth year and a virgin! That is embarrassing.” Bellatrix cackles.

That further piqued Tom’s interest about you.. He found himself having more thoughts about you, both innocent and sinful thoughts. However, his sinful thoughts changed to the exception of you being a virgin. That made him feel a possessiveness over you he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about. However, he knew that the idea of you being with anyone else was sickening to him. You were his, you just didn’t know it yet.

Your studies past fairly quickly and you were heading towards the Great Hall. You sit at your normal spot, Regulus sitting next to you. Tom sat a table down with his “friends”, however his focus was on you. Regulus gently closed your books, pushing them away.

“Eat, then study.” He stresses softly.

As irritated as you were about him taking away your books, you listened. Tom quirked a brow, finding himself wondering if it was often you got so distracted by your studies that you didn’t take care of yourself the best. His eyes roam over you slowly, noticing the dark circles under your eyes along with the thinning face of yours. So, it was often, he thought.

“Y/N! My favorite sister! How has your day been?” Sirius asks as plops down across from you.

“What do you want?” You ask, sighing as you pushed your food around on your plate.

“Nothing to do with studies I hope, she is taking a break to eat.” Regulus stresses.

You close your eyes as the two start to argue, resting your chin on your hand. You open your eyes when Regulus stands, his voice getting louder.

“Enough!” You snap, the two instantly quieting.

It had gotten the attention of those around your table. You take in a slow breath before letting it out, regaining your composure before looking between your brothers with a blank look.

“You two bicker like a bunch of children. This is our brief moment to be able to hang out, however you both don’t know how to push aside your differences because you both are too hot-headed and irrational.” You rant.

You snatch up your books that Regulus had pushed away from you earlier and stood from the table as you left the Great Hall.

Tom watched you leave before looking between your brothers, before his eyes fell on your plate of untouched food. He puts some food in his bag, going unnoticed and decides to leave himself. He made his way to the library, heading to the forbidden section where he assumed you’d be. He feels a brief moment of pride flare in his chest, right about where you had gone. He clears his throat and you look up from your notes.

“Here. I noticed you didn’t eat.” He says.

His voice surprised you. It was deep, soft and mysterious. He pulled out some food he took from the Great Hall and handed it to you.

“Thank you.” You murmur.

He nods, going to leave and you begin working on your studies again. You sigh as a loud group comes into the library.

“Would you allow me to show you a place I like to go?” He asks, looking back down at you.

“I don’t see why not.” You admit, gathering your stuff before standing.

You follow behind Tom, not quite sure where he was taking you. You knew of his quest to become the Dark Lord. Some of his followers had big mouths, so you heard more than everyone thought you knew. They assumed you were clueless about his current quest and they all were tip-toeing around who would be the one to break the news to you. However, you knew. You knew more than them in fact.

He looks around, making sure there was no other students or professors in the hall before a door appears in the wall. Your lips part from surprise as he ushers you in, following behind you. You looked around the empty room in awe.

“The Room of Requirements…I’ve heard of it and I’ve looked everywhere for it.” You mumble.

“Yes, I searched for this room for awhile myself. I later learned that the room only will appear in great need.” Tom explains, seeming rather smug about finding it.

“The room seems to know you quite well…and you seem to know the room quite well too. Otherwise, the door wouldn’t have appeared because I’m sure my studies are not in great need.” You say, turning back to him.

You feel a heat spread across your body as you catch his eyes on you. The dark eyes slowly trail over you, mapping out your body. His eyes stop on your blouse where you had a few buttons undone since you were alone and had started to get a little hot in the confined aisles of the forbidden section in the library.

He steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you. You look up, not realizing that he was this tall. He puts a hand out and gently grasps your hip before trailing it up your side. He tugs on the middle of your blouse, revealing more of your cleavage, before he starts undoing the remaining buttons.

“That and maybe because I am in great need of you.” He murmurs, leaning down to trail his lips along your neck.

You shiver, feeling a trail of goosebumps being left behind from the ghost touch. His hands find your shoulders where he pushes the robes off before pushing your blouse off along with it. He leaves a soft kiss on your racing pulse, before he pulls back to look down at you.

You were left in a dark green lace bra, and he tsked quietly, approving the way they made your breasts look. The bra seemed to work as a push-up bra, but really Narcissa had gotten you the wrong size this year.

His eyes trail over your stomach, noting the soft curves he would be sure to feel later. His eyes focus on the short school-girl skirt, also Narcissa’s doing. You didn’t fret much about it as you knew you’d wear your robe more often than not. You were wearing knee high stockings with a pair of mary-janes.

“The school girl skirt, hmph, your just asking to be fucked, aren’t you?” He asks, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

“Tom.” You say breathlessly.

“Leave the skirt on, but take your panties off.” He orders.

He begins unbuttoning his own shirt, watching you. You were frozen in place before you start to work the panties down. He held a hand out, looking at you expectantly. Your shaky hand places the matching dark green lace panties into his hand.

He balls it up and sticks it in his blazer pocket. You watch as his long, slender fingers work his belt off. Your eyes focused on his veiny hands.

“Hands and knees.” He says.

You slowly drop to your knees, turning over, no longer able to watch his next move. You get on your hands, moving so you are on your elbows. You arch your back down, sticking your ass out more.

Tom licks his lips slowly, swallowing hard as he watches you get into the position. He inhales deeply, watching as you arch your back. He puts a clenched fist to his mouth, lightly biting himself, not quite sure if this was really happening. The skirt hid nothing. He could see the big globes that he found himself really attracted to. He never would have taken himself as an ass man.

His eyes trail further down to see your glistening entrance. He pushes his pants off before he gets on the ground behind you. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, before he finds himself tracing down your spine lightly. You shiver unintentionally, however he enjoyed the effect he on you.

“How bad do you want me?” He murmurs into your ear.

“Please, Tom.” You whisper as you push your hips back.

“Pathetic. Do you want my cock or not?” He asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and roughly jerking your head back.

A breathless moan fills the thick air in the room as a heat spreads across your scalp. He clenches his jaw, feeling himself twitch from the sound he heard. It was the beginning of a beautiful symphony, one he didn’t realize how much he’d become crazed for.

“Tom! Please! I need you!” You cry, feeling frustrated that he wasn’t touching you where you wanted to be touched.

He smirks, gently grabbing your hips. He uses his other hand to guide himself into your dripping entrance. He groans, your walls immediately grasping onto him, suffocating him. You moan lowly, your hands grasping at the stone floor as your eyes flutter shut.

“Fuck.” He curses, working himself in and out of you slowly.

“Tom, please.” You plead, pushing your hips back.

“Is my cock the first one you’ve ever had?” He asks, his eyes burning in the back of your head as he awaited your response.

“Yes! Please, Tom!” You cry.

He couldn’t help the grin across his face. He heard it, but he wasn’t sure if maybe you just kept them out of the loop. But, knowing he was the one to take your virginity was exhilirating to him.

“I better be the only cock you have here. You are mine.” He warns.

“Yes! I-I’m yours, Tom!” You moan as he starts to move at a faster pace.

“I’ll kill any boy who dares to be with you, because you are mine! I’ll punish you if I see you talking to some boy.” He growls, his hips now savagely moving.

You cry for more, your soft and loud moans were music to his ears. He breathed heavily along with you as held onto your hips tightly. Skin smacking echoed in the room and you heard his soft groan which sent you coming. He groans louder as you clench around him, coming around him.

You stood on shaky legs, buttoning up your blouse and grimacing as you feel your shared climaxes slowly leaking out of you. He grasps your chin, looking at you with a stern look.

“Keep it in. I want you to know who fucked you.” He says.

“Tom, I need my panties.” You say as your cheeks flush.

“Find another way to keep it in.” He says, before focusing back on straightening himself out.

You pull your blazer on along with your robes before grabbing your books and hurrying out. You reach the Slytherin common room, Narcissa and Bellatrix looking up from their game of cards. Sirius and Regulus’s backs were to you.

“Oh my god, you got shagged!” Narcissa exclaims with a grin.

“Who was it?” Bellatrix asks.

“Yeah, I’d like to know.” Sirius seethes, taking in your disheveled hair and the hickeys on your neck.

Narcissa looks at your knees to see that they were scraped up, but you choose to ignore your brothers and cousins as you make your way past them. Regulus laughs, yelling “Atta girl!”

A small smile graces your lips at your little brothers comment. He too was protective of you, but he knew you inside and out. He and you were far closer than you were with Sirius. You get to your dorm and think of showering, but then your mind wanders to Tom. Keep it in…

You pull on a pair of fresh panties as you change into your nightware. You found yourself tossing and turning for a long while before you fell asleep. By the time it was time to wake up, you were exhausted. You could sleep in, but that ruins your morning routine.

You go to the shower, grimacing at the burn in your stomach. It was now that you realized you didn’t eat once yesterday. You finished up in the bathroom before pulling on a black lingerie set. You gasp as your door opens and Tom walks in.

“I knew you’d be awake.” He says, his eyes slowly roaming over you and some of the bruises he had made from where he held you still.

“Tom, what are you doing here?” You ask, grabbing a random robe and pulling it on.

“I’ve seen it all, darling. I wanted to tell you no more skirts.” He says and you look at him confused.

“I…Is it because how short they are?” You ask.

“That and the school girl skirt should be meant for my eyes when we are alone. Do you understand?” He asks.

“I…yes, Tom.” You say quietly.

He grins, looking at your neck where you had several hickeys before he leaves. You frown and look at the outfit you had prepared for this morning. It consisted of a school girl skirt.You sigh, grabbing a dark green skater skirt that ended a little about mid-thigh. There wasn’t much you could do about the length of your skirts until you went shopping again.

You grab your button up blouse and your Slytherin tie. You grab the blazer and sigh when you see dust on it. You hang it back up, deciding you will have to clean it later because you don’t have time now.

You pull on your knee socks and mary-janes when there was a knock at your dorm door. You open it and see it was Narcissa.

“I came bearing gifts.” She says.

You open the door and she guides you to the small vanity as she begins to help you cover the hickeys on your neck and jawline.

“So, who was it?” She asks.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to say who it was yet.” You murmur.

“Did he force you? I’ll make him suffer the worst ways imaginable.” She says seriously.

“No, no, he didn’t force me. I’m just not sure what is happening yet. I don’t know if it merely was just another shag to him or if it’ll turn into something. However, he’s being a little controlling of what I wear, mainly my skirts.” You explain.

“I feel like I already know who this is.” She says, sighing.

“Who?” You ask.

“Tom Riddle?” She asks.

“Oh…how did you know?” You ask.

“Tom is…many things. I don’t know if he is capable of love and a relationship. He is a very possessive man. And I mean to the extent that it isn't healthy. He is ill-tempered and easily jealous. Not to mention he can be obsessive too. I personally think you should put some distance between the two of you and let things die down. I don’t know what his intentions are, but I’m sure they aren’t good.” She explains.

“Alright.” You say quietly.

You were quite sure how to feel. But, you knew Narcissa meant well and you also knew that she knew Tom better than you. You trusted her advice almost as you trusted Regulus’s.

“All done.” She says.

“Thank you, Issa.” You murmur and she nods.

She leaves you to your thoughts and you realize you need to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. You gather your books and make your way out of your dorm in a daze. You head to the Great Hall and see everyone was already there. You ignore the burning stare that you knew belonged to Tom Riddle.

“Hey, you okay? You seem out of it? And your running late.” Regulus says.

“Oh, I’m fine. I think I’m just in need of food. I realized I didn’t eat once yesterday.” You explain.

“Y/N/N, you’ve got to take better care of yourself. I will start treating you like I did the first year.” He warns.

“I know, I know, and I promise I’ll do better.” You sigh.

“Why is Riddle staring at you? He seems pissed.” He whispers.

“Oh, who knows.” You sigh, briefly glancing at Tom.

Tom was staring at your neck where your hickeys would be, but thanks to Narcissa, they were no longer there. You managed to eat some of your food before it began to make you feel sick. You felt suffocated with Tom glaring daggers into you and Sirius was no better.

“Stop it.” Regulus warns Sirius.

“I want to know who it was.” He snaps, looking back at you.

You clench your jaw, narrowing your eyes at him as you take a slow breath in and let it out. You pull your wand out and keep your hand rested on the table, so you don’t draw anymore attention to you.

“Keep glaring, brother and watch how fast you end up in the hospital wing.” You warn lowly.

“Guys.” Narcissa warns.

“Who is he?” He growls lowly, leaning closer to you.

“Oh shit. Take cover!” Regulus says, going under the table.

You reach forward, grabbing Sirius’s tie and pull him closer as your face heats from anger.

“Astronomy tower, now.” You grit out.

He stands and storms out and you stand as Regulus pokes his head out.

“Don’t kill him please.” He pleads.

You storm out of the Great Hall, wand in hand as you make your way towards the Astronomy tower to see him already there and waiting.

“Who is it!?” He snaps as you both circle each other.

“Sirius, it’s none of your business. Stop trying to act like the older and protective brother. Stop acting like you care!” You snap.

“I do care! You're my sister.” He snaps.

“Guys. Let’s try to keep calm.” Narcissa says as she walks in with her group.

“Yeah, let’s just hug it out and make up.” Regulus says.

“I want to know who has my sister acting like a tramp.” He snaps.

“Oh no….oh no! Oh no! Back up, back up, back up!” Regulus says as he pushes everyone back.

“Bombarda!” You fast and Sirius curses as he tries to dodge the mini explosion you casted his way.

“Confundo!” He shouts, but you dodge it.

“Everte Statum.” You cast, watching as he flies back against the wall, his wand falling in the process.

You walk forward, grabbing his wand before looking down at him.

“Impulsa Animositas!” You snap, gaining confused looks from around the room.

“I…Y/N, have you been creating spells again?” Regulus asks cautiously.

“Again?” Narcissa asks alarmed.

“What did you do to me?” Sirius snaps.

“Say something mean. To any of us.” You say, smirking.

“What the hell did you do to me you crazy bi—ow!” He exclaims after feeling a jolt of electricity go through you.

“Just as I assumed. This spell will zap you everytime you try and say something mean.” You say.

“That’s child’s play you idiot!” He snaps before groaning.

“Hm. This isn’t. Lihednat Dolchitni.” You cast.

His hands find his throat as he try’s to breath. You clench your fist tighter, watching how he struggles more before you wave your hand and it stops. He leans forward, breathing heavily.

“Tread carefully, brother. I have far more up my sleeve than you wish to believe.” You spat.

“You…you will get in so much trouble for creating spells. Regulus and I told you that you need to stop.” He breathes heavily.

“Then keep your mouths shut otherwise I’ll make you suffer in the worst unimaginable ways.” You say.

With that, you turn and walk past the group who seemed shocked. You head back to the Great Hall, gathering your items before heading back to your dorm. You were too upset and riled up to do anything. So, instead you hurry to your dorm and lock the door.

You pace frantically, running your hands through your hair. You let a breath out that you hadn’t noticed you were holding.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay.” You mumble to yourself.

The lock on your door clicks, so you turn and see Tom. He closes the door back and turns to you with that normal passive and cold look.

“That was…impressive.” He says.

“Tom, I really rather be alone right now.” You mutter.

“Why cover the marks I left? I left them for a reason.” He says, his voice hardening as his eyes turn several shades darker.

“I didn’t want to walk around with them showing. People would have said something and I don’t want to deal with that. Plus, I rather the school not know I was your play thing.” You mutter harshly, turning your back to him.

“Who said you were a play thing because I don’t recall ever telling you that?” He snaps.

“Tell me this, Tom. Are you one for commitment? Would you be in an exclusive relationship? Huh, tell me that!” You snap harshly as you turn to face him again.

“I can do commitment. Before, I’d say no. However, for you I am willing to do it. I’m willing to be in an exclusive relationship as you call it. Because I can’t ever get you out of my head! You are all I can focus on! It’s so…so irritating, yet I love it at the same time.” He growls.

“Tom, there are going to have to be some rules set in place if we are to do something. Like the skirt thing this morning. I only wear skirts.” You say.

“Fine. Wear your skirts, well not the school girl ones, however I can’t promise that some asshole won’t end up dead for looking. You are mine.” He snaps.

“Okay, and what about the marks?” You ask.

“You shouldn’t care what anyone says. You never have before, so why care now? I want people to know that you belong to me. I want the guys to realize that you aren’t a possibility anymore. You are mine.” He says, closing the distance between you both.

You look up as his hand wraps around your throat. He tightens his hand and you let a shaky breath out as you clench your thighs.

“You barely know me.” You mumble.

“I know more than you think, darling. You piqued my interest. When that happens, I tend to learn everything I can.” He murmurs, brushing his nose against yours before kissing you softly.

You hum, moving your hands to his hair. You whine when he pulls back, a smirk on his lips.

“What does that mean? How have you learned about me if you just started speaking to me yesterday?” You ask.

“Because I might be a bit obsessive when it comes to learning of the things that interest me. I won’t stop until I know everything.” He says.

There was banging on your dorm door and you sigh, going to walk past Tom, but he loops an arm around your waist.

“Who is it?” Tom asks, annoyed.

“It’s Bella, me and Regulus. Is Y/N in there?” Narcissa says.

“Well go away. I’m about to fuck my girl.” He snaps.

Your face heats up as you cover your mouth to hide your gasp. Narcissa gasps, Regulus laughs and yells for you to get it while Bellatrix throws a fit.

“We are not doing anything! We are just talking!” You exclaim.

“Talking, huh?” He says, quirking a brow at you as he slips a hand beneath your skirt.

You let a shaky breath out as he trails his hand up your thigh. He gets to your underwear, sliding two fingers beneath the lacy fabric.

“Tom.” You mumble.

“Talking and yet you're so wet for me. Do you want my cock again?” He asks, sliding a finger in you.

Your eyes flutter close and he grins widely, loving the way you reacted to his touch. You were the violin and he was the violinist. He played you so gracefully and loved the beautiful symphony that came from your mouth. It was his greatest obsession.

[nerdy-novelist017]

Omg hi!!!🧚🏻‍♀️

I just wanted to pop by and tell you how much I LOVE your writing and content, makes me kick my feet reading about Benny and Bunny😫🙂‍↔️I was just wondering if mayhaps you’d write something in which Bunny gets mad at Benny for something and gives him the cold shoulder hehe. You mentioned in your most recent installment of them how she’s done that when pissed at him and I just thought it’d be so interesting to see an upset Bunny and groveling Benny😏perhaps involving the topic of jealousy or miscommunication. Have a good day/evening and feel free to ignore my yapping!!!🙈🐇

Thank you so much for your kind words! 🥹You're so sweet!!! I could never ignore your yapping, friend! Sorry this took so long to post but I wanted to get it right since this request is so stinking cute! I was going to break this up into two parts because I got a little carried away but I figured you guys probably don't mind the longer posts ;) Please let me know your thoughts on this as I love reading your comments! Hope you enjoy! 🫶

Benny x Bunny Masterlist 🐰

Word Count- 3.4k+

Love, Lids, and Lessons (Benny Cross X Shy!Reader)

Listen, Benny fucked up on a near daily basis. He’s by no means perfect and there was a lot that you overlook because you loved him and he’s still the best man you’d ever met. However, there were times where Benny pissed you off so bad that you simply couldn't excuse him. This happened to be one of those times.

You were standing beside him at the pool table during what happened to be a pretty intense moment of a game that Benny happened to be losing pretty badly. It was the third time you’d approached him, asking to leave. It wasn’t even that late but you had wanted to go because you planned to get up early the next morning to meet your girlfriends for a breakfast date. He’d told you that the two of you could leave soon, after he finished his beer. And then he told you after he finished his game. Then that game became the next game. And the current game which he happened to be losing and maybe it was that his temper with the razzing he was receiving from the members who watched the game but he just didn’t want to have to tell you one more time that you would both be leaving soon. You tugged on his sleeve again and he just said it, without a filter, without thinking. 

“Bunny, you’re being naggy.” 

That was it. Just four words that would cause him more trouble than he even realized. He didn’t mean it in a rude way; He was just trying to tell you what you were doing was annoying to him. He said way worse than that to the boys and they never reacted the way you did. 

Your mouth dropped open in shock, driven speechless by his words. He made a shrugging motion to you that said What? But the low whistled that emitted from Cal on the other side of the pool table did nothing to deescalate the embarrassment he could see bubbling in your face. You snapped your mouth shut, brows pinching together as you glanced at the others who heard. Not many, just Cal, Johnny, Betty and a few others. It was enough. When your gaze found him again there was an undeniable dark cloud in your eyes and he wanted to apologize. But you turned and walked away before he could say anything else. 

“Oh, Benny. . .” Johnny muttered with a grimace but Benny was too caught up in the taunting of the other members around the table to hear him. So he let you storm off, figuring you’d have cooled down by the time his game was over. And shortly after, his game ended (He lost, though he didn’t really find himself caring about that, not with the image of your hurt expression looping in his mind) and he said goodbye to the boys and went to find you. Only . . . you were gone. 

He found Gail who told him you had left with Kathy. He clenched his jaw and nodded. You rarely ever left with someone else, you liked to ride home with Benny. He thought maybe you were just tired and Kathy was probably leaving at the same time but a little voice in the back of his head told him it was more to it than that. He tried to ignore the way the ride home was quiet without you on the back. And when he walked through the door, you were not in the entryway where you normally stood waiting for him. No, you weren’t even in the kitchen where he’d sometimes find you during a midnight craving. Something uncomfortable gripped at his heart and he stood in the kitchen for a long time, trying to come to terms with the fact that you probably left. 

Trudging up the stairs to your bedroom, his heart skipped a beat when he saw your form laying in the bed, back facing him. He resisted the urge to go to you, sensing the way your shoulders stiffened that you were still awake. He undressed slowly, taking the time to decide what he wanted to say to you. But even as he pulled back the covers and crawled in next to you, no words ever formed in his mouth. Instead, he tried a different tactic. He pressed himself up against your body, sliding his hand over your waist, traveling it up to your breast as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

You brushed his hand away. “I’m not in the mood, Benny.”

His hand moved down to your hips instead to take it in another direction but you gripped his wrist and moved it back to his side. “I’m serious. I’m tired”

Okay, you were upset about what he’d said. He sighed and rolled onto his back, moving back to his side of the bed. He waited a few more seconds to see if you’d follow him like you normally did, but you remained steadfast in your spot so he reached over to the bedside lamp and switched it off, the room filling with darkness. He laid in that darkness for a long time, contemplating what to say, what to do. 

When Benny woke the next morning and his hand drifted over to you, he found your side of the bed empty. He frowned, glancing at the clock. It was still early and you almost never woke up before he did. And if you did, you just wanted to snuggle with him in bed. With an odd feeling in the pit of his gut, he got up and dressed, seeking you out. He found you in the kitchen, wearing an apron with little flowers embroidered on the fabric. You stood at the island, frosting cupcakes that he didn’t know you planned on taking with you. 

“Mornin’,” he said as he approached, making his way over to make a cup of coffee. You only hummed in response. He turned back around to face you, leaning against the opposite countertop, feeling as though the space between you was as wide as an ocean. He watched you for a moment as you set down the cupcake you were working on, the delicate desert now freshly adorned with baby pink frosting. You reached forward to start on the next one and that’s when he spoke again. “You need help with that?” 

“No,” you replied, avoiding eye-contact. A heavy silence filled the kitchen as he sipped meekly at his coffee and you finished frosting the cupcakes. It’d be better to just rip off the band-aid, he decided. He wasn’t going to go his whole day pretending he didn’t know that you were giving him your traditional cold-shoulder response. So he said, “You still mad about last night?”

Your eyes flashed up to his for just a moment. “What do you think, Benny?” 

“About what I said? C’mon . . .” He didn’t even mean it in a rude way! Sometimes you were so sensitive and he truly didn’t understand you. Johnny had told him once that women were a completely different creature than them. And as Benny watched you furiously frost your cupcakes, he really felt the impact of that statement.  “I didn’t mean it. You know that. I was a little drunk and–”

“Oh you were drunk?” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Well, in that case, I’ll just let you get away with whatever you want when you’re drunk. Won’t let anything affect me at all!”

Hmm. He didn’t think that’s what you were gonna say to that. Benny hated it when you verbally put him in a corner like this, didn’t let him get away with his half-assed apologies that never actually use the phrase ‘I’m sorry.’ It always made him get defensive, made his temper flare and he’d end up doing more damage than good nearly every time.

“You were naggin’ and you know it. I don’t know if it was because you wanted to go home or if you were jealous that someone else had my attention for a moment and you didn’t–”

“Jealous?” The word echoed off the cupboards. “Are you kidding me?”

“Bunny–” he groaned but you cut him off. 

“Don’t Bunny me right now,” you griped, eyes narrowing as you began placing the cupcakes in the portable carrier he had surprised you with for your birthday a few months ago. “Jealous? You honestly think I was jealous? Or are you just sayin’ that because you want to get a rise out of me?”

“Well, I’m just tryin to say–” he stopped short as he caught your sharp gaze. “I just. . . Don’t you think you’re overreacting about this?”

Your mouth formed a thin line, jaw clenching. You stared at him for a few agonizingly long moments before you shook your head, muttering, “You–” 

Benny was dying to know what you were about to say but only observed as you removed your apron, folded it neatly and placed it back in the drawer before you grabbed your portable tray and left the kitchen. Like a moth to flame, he followed you as you went to the door, pausing only to slide your feet into the kitten heels you had lined up at the baseboard. Without saying another word, you opened the door and left. But he trailed after you, standing on the porch, he wordlessly watched as you descended the stairs and walked down the stone pathway to the white picket fencing you had always talked about and opened the little gate. 

“Damn thing,” you grumbled under your breath as you fought with the broken hinge of the gate to close it properly behind you, the sound squeaking obnoxiously. 

“When are you comin’ back?” he hollered after you, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

“Later.” Was your vague answer before you got into your car and left Benny still standing on the porch, front door ajar and eyes narrowed. 

******

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Benny stood to his full height and took a step back to take in the shiny new hinge on the gate he just installed. He tried opening and closing it a few times, admiring the way it worked soundlessly. Good as new, he thought. Fixing physical things like door hinges and motorcycle parts, those were easy. Benny was good with his hands, he could tinker around and fix just about anything he set his mind to. But fixing emotional things. . . those were not so easy for Benny. Apologies were rare and he’s never one to throw them out like confetti as you so often did. You apologized too much and he’s told you that you shouldn’t apologize for half the things you do. 

He’d had a lot of time to think about what happened and his mood certainly shifted more than once during his front gate project. At first, mild annoyance because what he said to you was hardly an insult. Then, it might have been due to the sun beating down on him while he worked, but genuine anger replaced the annoyance because you were so damn sensitive and there were times he felt he had to walk on eggshells around you. But the anger quickly fizzled out when he thought about how your sensitivity was what made you special. It was what helped you be so empathetic, so caring toward everyone you came across. And by the time he’d finished fixing the gate, the only feeling that smothered him was a painfully present regret. Regret for what he had said, but also for what he hadn’t. An apology was something you deserved, but he didn’t give it to you, not in an appropriate way. 

So when you came home, hours later, he watched from the living room window as your car pulled in front of the house. You exited the car, and he almost held his breath as you opened the gate, taking a moment to open and close it a few times. You definitely noticed he’d fixed it. Good, but that didn’t mean he was in the clear yet.

You came inside and it was clear that you were still upset by the way you moved. He could see your shoulder stiffen when you noticed him there, could see the pouty lip of yours pull into a slight frown. You hardly spoke to each other the rest of the day. You didn’t mention the gate and he didn’t bring it up. 

******

The next morning Benny was up before you, as usual. At least that was back to normal. He went downstairs and started a pot of coffee as he got ready for work. He grabbed his lunchbox, preparing to make himself a lunch for work when he stopped short, noticing that there was already a lunch packed in there, complete with one of your pink-frosted cupcakes. His heart squeezed at the realization that you still packed him a lunch, something you did every workday for him, even though you were upset with him. You . . . the sweet creature that he still didn’t completely understand. And he needed to do something.

Fortunately Benny had another trick up his sleeve, and playing dirty didn’t matter to him when it came to getting your attention again. 

******

You didn’t sleep well last night, laying awake all night with a heartsick frown, wishing nothing more than for the man who lay just within an arm's reach from you to actually comfort you – in a way that you wanted to be comforted. And tears threatened to spill when you realized, even just for a moment, you wished he could be someone who was a bit more empathetic, a bit more compatible to you. This wasn’t the worst thing he’s said and you’ve had your fights over much worse, but in all your time together, this was the first time you’d ever had that thought. Maybe it was because this was the first time you had both ignored it, both choosing to go to bed angry and upset rather than to work through it. The storm in your heart still surged on, albeit a bit more due to sadness rather than anger, as you slipped on your babydoll pink robe over your nightgown. You tried not to think about Benny at all as you put your hair up in rollers and applied your makeup for the day. You couldn’t hide in the bedroom all day unfortunately, so you traipsed downstairs, bare feet padding softly against each step until you entered the kitchen where you found Benny sitting at one of the island chairs, the daily paper spread out on the countertop before him. 

He looked up when he heard you. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you parroted as you went to the pantry to grab out your ingredients to start breakfast. You started your tea, grabbing the jar of honey off the shelf and a flower mug. You turned your back to Benny and started to twist the lid off the honey jar . . . only it was really stuck on there. Readjusting your hands, you gave it another go, but still it didn’t budge. Setting your jaw in place, you glanced over your shoulder at your husband who was still looking down at his newspaper. Normally, you would immediately hand something over to Benny to open for you, but you were still mad at him which meant you’ll have to go without honey in your tea. 

So instead you started making your bagel for breakfast, a go-to breakfast meal for workday mornings. Popping the bagel in the toaster, you took the homemade strawberry jam out of the fridge and frowned when you realized that lid was also screwed on extra tight too. You turned to face your partner, reluctantly asking, “Can you open this?”

He looked up at you, eyes glancing down at the jam jar and he held out his hand. “I’ll open it for you if you talk to me.”

In no mood to play his games, you rolled your eyes. “Forget it. I can do it myself.”

You turned back around, feeling his gaze burning into you as you grabbed a dish rag and placed it over the lid to get a better grip. You twisted hard, tongue darting out between your teeth as you concentrated on opening it. It seemed as though a mutant with superhuman strength had sealed this lid last – which was strange considering you were the only person in the house who ever used it. You peaked back at Benny who watched you blatantly so you stuck your chin out defiantly as you put the jar back down on the countertop. Fine, you’d just put peanut butter on your bagel instead. You scooped up the peanut butter jar, this time facing him as you twisted the lid and you nearly screamed in frustration when you felt how tightly this lid was as well. 

Wordlessly, he held out his hand across the countertop, waiting patiently as you crossed your arms, mentally debating if you could go without any of these items on your bagel.

Ding! You both glanced over as your perfectly-browned bagel popped up from the toaster. You sighed through your nose, biting your bottom lip as defeat settled in. You grabbed the jam, honey and peanut butter jars and slid them on the countertop before him. 

“Okay, fine,” you admittedly softly and watched as he made it look so effortless as he opened the lid with a satisfying pop. You muttered a quick thanks and reached for the jar but he leaned backwards, holding the jar just out of your reach. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he spoke, eyes earnestly searching your face. “What I said at the bar – about you askin’ to go home. You weren’t being naggy, I should have listened to you the first time. That was my own fault. I was just getting so caught up in that stupid game and it wasn’t even important. Not like you are. And what I said embarrassed you and that was wrong.” He rose from his seat, moving around the counter to stand before you as he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his apology. Only a handful of times have you heard those words leave his mouth and you knew he never said them if he wasn’t completely meaningful. You nodded but then remembered his use of vocabulary last night. “And what you said about me bein’ jealous?”

His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I’m not apologizin’ for that because you really do confuse me sometimes, Bunny. I thought maybe you were jealous and when you stop communication’ with me, I feel even more lost than usual.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” you accepted as you crossed your arms. “But I don’t want to talk to you when I’m upset. Maybe I want you to do the talking for once.”

He furrowed his brow in thought as he looked over at the toaster. “Well, why don’t we make a promise to each other that we can go to bed angry if we want, but come morning, we talk about it over breakfast. No more putting it off for multiple days. We have to deal with it so that we can move past it.”

You considered that for a moment. “Yeah, that sounds alright.”

He took your hands in his own and dipped forward to place a soft kiss to your cheek. When he began to pull back, your hand flew up to gently encase the side of his face, holding him there as you met him halfway and kissed his lips in a physical show to prove you had accepted his apology. And if that wasn’t good enough, you whispered against his lips, “I forgive you.”

His arms circled around your waist pulling you into his lean frame in a tight hug that seemed to melt away all the stress that built between you two. 

“How did you know that I would use the honey today?” you asked with a tilt of your head, figuring he must be the reason for the right lids. 

“I didn’t. I tightened all the jars.”

“Benny!” you laughed, playfully slapping his bicep. 

He lowered his hands behind your hips, lifting you quickly onto the kitchen countertop, grinning at the squeal you let out at the sudden shift. 

“Let me make it up to you, Bunny? Please?” he begged, voice teasing but you could see the sincerity, the desperation in his ocean blue eyes.

“I’m gonna be late for work,” you giggled as he buried his face into the spot between your jaw and collarbone, that sweet spot he knew got you weak in the knees every time he placed his mouth there. “I need to leave in a few minutes.”

“You might wanna call in sick then,” he murmured against your skin as he kissed up your neck, “‘Cuz I got plans for you that’s gonna last longer than a few minutes.”

-Tag List-

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[o4i0n]

do u guys think miguel gets hard if ur nice to him ., miguel nation what do we think 

reblogs, comments & likes r highly appreciated !

it’s not like you being nice is anything out of the ordinary—if anything, it’s one of the things that comes the most naturally to you and what others notice whenever they catch you around. your care comes in the form of small, gentle reminders, shared smiles when your eyes meet another’s, or asking how things are when you pass by someone else to make simple conversation. nothing special, really, but it’s sweet. 

miguel o’hara thinks that it’s too sweet, but it’s more of a ‘him’ problem, if anything. he’s not even supposed to be this worked up over something as careless as your hand brushing against his shoulder to let him know that you’re there for him that’s coupled with a chipper ‘bye!’ thrown his way before you turn around and leave, but he is. every time you leave him be, the throbbing ache that settles between his legs grows a lot heavier, and he knows that if he deals with it, it would just make things worse. 

it’s not like he has any plans to stop, though. he may be growing tired of the countless times he’s caught himself thinking about you, the image of your pretty self occupying his mind so much that he swears he sees you even when he closes his eyes, but the scenarios that he’s so keen on turning into a reality make the job a whole lot easier. there may be a twinge of guilt that crosses his mind after he spills into his hand once he’s done fucking himself raw into his fist, but he tries not to thinking about it too much. even when you’re not there, you’re still assisting him in some way. 

which is why he thinks that the universe is playing one massive, fucked-up prank on him when you chose the worst time to drop by his office—that dark, secluded area away from everyone else that he considers an office, anyway—and get greeted with the sight of him biting down on his fist while he furiously ruts into his hand in an attempt to get off. the need that emanates off his body is palpable; no matter how fast he’s stroking himself or how desperately he’s letting his fingers swipe over his leaking tip as pre-come trickles down the remainder of his length, he still can’t come. right now, the sounds that he’s making have more emotion than in any of the words he’s spoken to you, or to anyone, for that matter. it doesn’t make it easier that he’s suddenly terrified of how you’d treat him after seeing that spectacle of pure desperation on his part once he notices you’re there. 

but you, being you, are nothing short of understanding. when miguel asks you to leave (well, he kind of shouts at you because you were never supposed to see anything like that), you’re so caught up by what you saw that you stupidly offer to help him out, your voice and demeanor taking on your trademark shyness. 

miguel is many things, and you know him to be an incredibly efficient man. everything that follows is a blur, and you end up sprawled out on his desk, your clothes haphazardly tugged out of the way so that he could take up up on your offer. 

“you’re too fuckin’ nice,” he whines, wasting no time to peel away your panties and drag his fingers over your entrance. it almost sounds like he’s complaining at the fact that you are the way you are, but he doesn’t say anything. as his fingers curiously prod at your pussy to spread you nicely for him, his free hand is wrapped around his cock, dripping with his own arousal as it lays heavy in his fingers. 

a soft whimper slips out of your lips as he toys with your body, and it’s only sinking in now that you’re not sure if you can take all of him. but he needs help, right? he needs to feel better, so you keep your legs apart for him while he rubs the head of his cock on your sensitive clit. 

when he hears that, it takes all of his self-control to not sink his cock deep into your sweet little cunt right then and there. “i just—s’too much for a guy to take,” he mumbles, trying to push his tip past your soaked folds, because he’s so nice to let you off easy for now since he knows he’s big. “i never know if you’re teasing or not.” and it’s true; the way you tread so carefully and so gently with everyone, especially with him, makes him wonder whether or not this is your way of being coy. “it’s like you’re begging me to fuck you.” 

miguel doesn’t know where all these words are coming from because he knows for a fact that he’s not all that open with anything, much less with things this personal. however, there’s something about the way you’re looking up at him with doe eyes and being completely exposed in a way he’s fantasized about for so long that it sends him reeling. 

you’ve been so nice for him, going above and beyond for something you don’t even need to do; of course he needs to return the favor by making you feel good too! it’s only fair, after all, that he shows his very specific way of thanking you. 

the moment you give him the go, he slides right into you, your wetness and his pre-come making it easier for him to finally feel what it is he’s been dreaming about for so long. he can’t stop the low moan that escapes him when he feels your warm walls enveloping his cock, your pussy so accommodating and welcoming, just like you. he’s so relieved that it’s not his hand that’s making him feel this way anymore; immediately, he wants to bottom out, to bury himself so deep inside you that he’s positive his tip nudges against your cervix. he never thought that you’d be so kind as to let him fuck you, and he’s so eager to draw out all those sounds and reactions when you let him take you. 

he pushes in deeper, his thumb rubbing small circles on your clit because he knows it’ll make you whine. “don’t think i can control myself, pretty girl,” he groans out, all the sensations hitting him like a ton of bricks, and he’s resisting the urge to move right after as you’re adjusting to him. you’re equally as fucked out as miguel and he’s not even all the way in yet. “i won’t stop until you’re crying for me, okay?” 

first time dabbling into smut writing so please be kind nyahaha also if there r grammatical errors no there aren't haha wdym

[hoodoo12]

Bad Date (1/2)

An oldie but a goodie (I think). Who hasn't been in a situation that you feel trapped in and need an out?

NSFW, Beetlejuice x f!reader

You fiddled with your fork. The droning--the god awful, incessant droning--from the other side of the small table never ceased. The man sitting there, the man who you agreed to go out on this date with, hadn’t stopped talking about himself. The. Entire. Time.

It wasn’t as though he had interesting or fun stories either. He had opinions on everything, no matter the subject, and thought himself an expert of everything too. He worked at a car dealership, for the love of god, and although he bragged about how much money he made and the fancy vehicles he drove, you had a suspicion he was more on the level of a lot attendant instead of a top salesman.

Why did you ever swipe right on his photo?

You slipped your phone into your lap and discreetly checked the time. You’d been at this restaurant for thirty minutes, and although the waiter had taken your orders, you’d only gotten drinks and a basket of bread so far. This was insufferable. How were you going to last through salad and an entree with this guy? You didn’t even want to think about coffee and dessert.

While he continued to prattle on about the border wall or car tires or whatever, your mind drifted.

Beetlejuice had not been happy you’d gone out tonight. He’d expected another lazy evening in, but it wasn’t like the two of you were exclusive or anything! Who knew how many people the ghost had on the side? It wasn’t like you could keep track of him. And whenever you dared try to mention the word ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner’ or anything of the sort, he stammered and turned a more sickly shade of pale, and found excuses to change the subject. That, or he just left, no matter what the two of you happened to be doing at the moment. Sometimes, for fun, you teased him about it, just to make him squirm.

Tonight you’d give anything for it to be real. Then you’d never be in this mess.

You wondered if typing his name into a text message would summon him.

No harm in trying . . .

With a quick glance up at the guy across the table flapping his lips--oh god, he saw you looking and thought you were encouraging him!--you quickly dropped your gaze to your phone again. Because Beetlejuice wasn’t listed in your phone, you pulled up a cousin’s contact page as a proxy.

Quickly you tapped out, “Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse,” into a new text message.

You hit send. You could explain to your cousin later.

Nothing happened. You gave it a few more minutes while the yammering from your date continued, and still nothing happened.

You decided to try again, with a phonetic spelling this time.

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!”

You crossed your fingers this time that he’d appear.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Your date continued to be oblivious to the fact you were completely ignoring him.

Nothing.

Then a tiny ‘ping!’ from your phone!

“What the hell? Is this some kind of safe word?” your cousin texted back.

With a wry smile, you thought your cousin had no idea how the answer to her question was the truth. You also hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until you got some kind of response. You let it out in disappointment that it wasn’t Beetlejuice, but used it as an excuse to leave the table.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you blurted, interrupting your date and getting out of your chair before he could respond. You darted away from the table towards the restrooms.

In the restroom, you ignored your phone and stared into the mirror. Someone else was in one of the stalls, but you disregarded that too; you just wanted help!

Watching your lips form the words, you muttered, “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice.”

You closed your eyes at the last syllable. When you opened them, he was standing right behind you, his mouth curled into a snarl and his eyes dark under furrowed brows.

You spun on your heel to him.

Before you could tell him that you needed rescuing, he spit,

“What the hell do you want?”

Startled, you couldn’t answer. Typically he was pleased to hear his name--

“I thought we weren’t seeing each other tonight,” he continued in an angry growl. “You had your date, and I was supposed to sit around, twiddling my thumbs, watching reruns of the shit they show on TV in the Netherworld--it’s all garbage like Manimal and My Mother the Car, nothing even entertaining like the Jerry Springer Show--”

“Beej, you’ve got to help me!” you interrupted. “You’ve got to get me out of this date!”

At least he had the decency to stop talking when you said something, unlike the guy still sitting at the table.

Beetlejuice fixed you with an undeniable “I-told-you-so” expression, but it didn’t soften his anger. “Nope. You got yourself into this, you get yourself out of it.”

That was not the answer that you had expected. Beetlejuice was usually ecstatic to rain chaos down on the living. He usually jumped at the opportunity to harass people. And now, at all times, he’d decided to, to . . . make you pay for one measley mistake?

Tears welled in your eyes. Deep down, you knew you deserved it.

You grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed your eyes. Okay. He wouldn’t help? Then you’d sit through the rest of this horrible date, pray to god the guy didn’t get handsy or expect anything physical in return for paying, and then you’d take a long hot shower when you got home to try and wash away the memory of this disastrous night.

“Okay, Beej,” you told him quietly. Because tears began forming again, you couldn’t see the expression on his face. You imagined it was triumph. “I’m . . . I’m sorry about tonight.”

With the apology, you reached for his hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and left the restroom. As the door began swinging closed behind you, you heard an old woman’s voice from the stall exclaim,

“I heard a man’s voice! There better not be a man in this ladies room, or I’m speaking to the management--”

The door closed completely, and you never heard a retort from Beetlejuice.

⁂

You made your way back to your table. Your date was there, looking annoyed he’d lost his audience. You sat down again, murmured a quiet lie that your cousin’s dog was sick and she was giving you an update, and your date launched into a diatribe about how veterinarian medicine was a money-grabbing scam.

You went back to fiddling with your fork, feeling miserable. Once or twice you tried to at least look interested in whatever nonsense erupted out of the mouth of the guy sitting opposite of you, but it wasn’t a facade you could maintain.

Luckily, a waiter bumped into your table. It broke your date’s soliloquy, thankfully. Salad plates were dropped in front of the two of you. Your date looked annoyed, but you were just happy to have something else to focus on. You thanked the waiter without looking up.

To keep yourself occupied, you tried to remember and list all the ingredients in a Ceasar salad while you stabbed some with your fork. Now your date was talking about some other fancier restaurant he’d gone to, with grilled romaine lettuce for the salad, and croutons made daily with their own milled flour for the bread, and wild-caught yeast, and, and, and--

Mechanically you chewed. Nothing had flavor.

“--it was nothing like this! These are obviously store-bought croutons!” your date was saying, because he’d suddenly become a celebrity chef along with a veterinarian and car dealer. “Subpar ingredients! I’d hope that they are saving money so the steak I ordered will be higher quality, but I know that won’t be true--what the hell is this?”

You couldn’t even fake enough interest to lift your head.

“What the actual hell?” he exclaimed, then more loudly, he snapped his fingers and called for the waiter. “Hey. Hey! Waiter! Get over here!”

You stabbed another bit of lettuce. As you raised it to your mouth, the waiter got to your table.

“Yes sir? Would you like some freshly cracked black pepper on your salad?”

The waiter’s voice was soft with a bit of a scratch that made it sound like he may have the beginnings of a sore throat. You didn’t look up at him, but from the corner of your eye saw that his trousers were faded black with uneven pinstriping. Wasn’t the rest of the staff in solid black clothing?

“No!” your date admonished rudely. “There is something in my salad and I want to know what it is!”

Curious beside yourself, you looked over the table.

Your date was red-faced and angry, pointing at his plate. You didn’t see anything in it. When he tapped it with his fork, however, some of the lettuce moved on its own.

The waiter reached into the salad with dirty-looking fingernails. In slow motion, everything happened at once: you looked up his arm to Beetlejuice’s face, a decidedly evil grin began to widen his lips, and he plucked a tiny, four inch, black and white sandworm out of your date’s salad to hold it up in front of him.

Time snapped back into proper speed as your date gasped.

Still holding the wriggling, hissing sandworm, Beetlejuice grabbed a chair from another table, swung it around so he could straddle it backwards, and plopped himself down between the two of you. He didn’t say a word to you.

He held the angry sandworm in front of your date’s face.

“This, Matt,” he said, putting an obvious tone of dislike on your date’s name. He grabbed your date by the shoulder to keep him seated, then continued like this was a nature show and he was presenting a fascinating creature. “This is a baby sandworm. Look at the little fellow! See his little stripes and blue lips? That’s because he’s poisonous. He’s warning predators off! But, interesting fact, he’s also venomous. Those teeny tiny fangs’ll inject you with venom and paralyze you so you don’t struggle as he’s swallowing you! Look how mad he is!”

Beetlejuice shoved the sandworm closer to Matt’s face, making him flinch back.

“Oh, he’s so mad you can see his secondary mouth! Usually those don’t appear until they’re older!”

The sandworm writhed and continued to hiss wildly.

“Now. Matt. Listen,” Beetlejuice continued like this was a perfectly normal conversation, even though you could see Matt wanted to bolt. The ghost’s grip was white-knuckled tight on him. “This little guy, yeah. He’d mess you up some. Make you sick if you ate him, or if he got shoved into some bodily orifice. But he probably wouldn’t kill you.”

You imagined you almost saw a look of relief pass over Matt’s face.

“His mother though . . .” Beetlejuice mused thoughtfully. “Sandworms are really protective of their young. This baby gets inside you and his mama is going to come looking for you, and she’s gonna be fifty solid feet long of pissed off.”

The expression of horror on Matt’s face made a small smile crack your lips. Beetlejuice grinned too.

“So Matt, what do you say? You wanna apologize to the lady for being a total d-bag and wasting her evening with your non-stop drivel and an ego that is, to be honest, even impressing me a little bit with its size? Or would you like to see how quickly little Sandy here can wriggle his way into your brain or stomach? He’d fit in an ear, I bet, and if not, definitely down your throat--”

Matt managed to wrench himself away from the grip holding him in his seat. He stood up so fast his chair tipped over as he backed away. That caught the attention of the other patrons, but your date didn’t care. He stumbled through some creative, cussing descriptions of you, Beetlejuice, and the whole situation, his voice growing louder as he continued.

Restaurant staff began converging on the table. You were mortified but felt a little surge of warmth that Beetlejuice hadn’t abandoned you. Beetlejuice’s expression was a mixture of amused and bored. Matt’s voice rose until the ghost stood up abruptly and grabbed him again.

“Apologize,” he ordered, “and don’t even think of contacting her again.”

Being held by what he thought was a deranged man--that observation was surprisingly accurate--with the still hissing sandworm dangerously close to his face, Matt choked out an apology to you. Beetlejuice released him, dusted Matt’s jacket off, and gave him a slight shove.

By then the restaurant’s manager had arrived. Matt, since he wasn’t restrained any longer, continued to swear, trying to describe what just happened to him, talking about the sandworm and being accosted and this establishment going to be shut down--

--he was escorted from the premises.

Before anyone could turn their attention to you and the ghost poorly imitating one of their wait staff, you and Beetlejuice hurried out the door as well.

Outside, you threw your arms around his neck.

“Thank you! You don’t know how much it means to me that you did that!”

Beetlejuice pursed his lips like he was a little disgusted with himself for coming to your rescue, but the quick kiss you planted on him erased the expression.

“Are sandworms really protective of their young?” you asked. “Is one really going to come looking for that baby?”

“Hell no!” he scoffed. The tiny sandworm he still pinched between his fingers had calmed down a little. That, or it was tired from all the activity. “They give birth and then its every one of them for themselves! If the babies don’t bury themselves quick enough, the mother eats them! Nasty little buggers.”

“Ugh,” you agreed. “Well, get rid of it, then. And I owe you big time.”

At that, Beetlejuice looked you straight in the eye and leered. “I’m going to keep you to your word on that, baby.”

He offered you an arm, so you hooked your hand through his elbow, and the two of you left for home.

tbc . . .

[bayjaruchel]

Strawberry Blond

－－－

Pairing: Peeta Mellark/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Late one night, you get a call. (4.7k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

－－－

You know that your relationship can never be normal. 

Even now, when you technically should have peace of mind— and you're out of the arena, out of the Games— there's still the ugly truth that lies beneath it all. The Victor's Village is beautiful in comparison to the rest of District Twelve, but because of the reason why you earned a residence here, you're not sure if you'll ever truly enjoy it. Brick houses with plenty of room, and yet yours is still far too empty, even if you have your family to keep you company. 

Peeta lives alone in his. 

There's always smoke coming from the chimney, and he keeps most, if not all of the lights on. The only room that occasionally has its lights off is his, which is on the second floor. You've woken up in the middle of the night many times and glimpsed the shining evidence that he's still awake. It's not like you get perfect sleep yourself— but you worry, sometimes. 

You do visit him, sometimes. But you've never knocked on his door when it's nighttime. You're not entirely sure why that is; maybe it's because you're afraid of what the cool silence will bring. Maybe it's too intimate. Neither of you are strangers to intimacy, and you've definitely maintained a little of that, but … There's still a certain distance. Away from the cameras, you still struggle to discern what's real and what's not. 

The way he looks at you is certainly real. 

You don't know if you'll ever feel exactly the same way towards him. 

Sure, you do like him. A lot. He makes it easy. He's the type of guy that you could bring home to your parents. He's the type of guy that one would want to come home to every day. Of course, he's a little more reserved, and his eyes are duller, but— he's still Peeta. He's still the baker's boy. Deep down, he'll never lose what made you— and all of the Capitol— fall in love with him. 

Is it really love, though? Or is it just admiration? 

It's something that you think about a lot. You've never said those three words to him when not in front of an audience. And he knows that on those specific occasions, it wasn't real. It was just an act. Maybe when he kissed you, he wasn't acting. Maybe when he looked at you and said those lovely things to you, he wasn't acting. 

You can dream. You can hope. 

However, most of your actual dreams nowadays are just nightmares.  

No golden boy is holding you, shielding you from the awful weather. There's no bright, happy future in which everything turned out right. And there's none of those strange, albeit interesting dreams where your house is upside down and your teacher at school is telling you that somehow, you've suddenly graduated and you're being sent off to the Capitol to become one of them. 

Instead, there's just fire. 

Tonight, you dream of fire. 

Burning bodies that fall from the highest trees. You can vaguely make out who they are— there's a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, a primal guilt. Everything around you is blazing, and you know you should try and get out, but your feet are frozen, rooted to the spot. You can't move, even as the flames begin to lick around your ankles. Even if you did run, you wouldn't be able to escape. This has been a long time coming, hasn't it? 

Despite the almost blinding brightness emanating from the fire, everything else is foggy and dark. The only thing you can focus on is the corpses, the trees, and everything coming down around you. Someone shouts your name, but it's muffled like you're underwater. You fail to register it fast enough. 

A scream, crystal-clear. 

You whip around, and there it is. The evidence of your failure. You're helpless to do anything— you can only watch— more screaming, more yelling, more pleads for help— 

There is so, so much blood— 

You're awake, and the blistering heat is gone. 

Gasping, you sit up, struggling for breath. It keeps catching in your throat. Your heart's pounding at a pace that makes your head spin. Dizzy, disorienting. But it used to be worse than this. 

At least you don't wake up sobbing anymore. 

This is still awful, though. Trembling, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to regain control. In, out. In, out. Your lungs shudder with the effort, but you keep going. Despite the comfortable warmth of the house, there's still goosebumps prickling up and down your bare skin. Your arms. Your neck. The sheets are tangled around your waist and legs; you almost feel trapped. 

There's no point in closing the curtains, since virtually nobody is in the streets, and the other inhabitants of the Village couldn't possibly look through your windows. When you glance out of the one nearest to your bed, it's almost pitch-black outside. There are no street lamps, after all. You try to focus on the cold, empty houses to distract yourself. 

Finally, your breath slows. Your pulse calms. 

You're still shaking, faintly, but your knees don't give out when you detangle yourself from your blankets and slip out of bed. You consider that a minor victory. 

Taking care not to make too much noise, you head downstairs. The polished stone is cold underneath your feet, but it's grounding, in a way. It settles you back down to earth. For a short while, you frequently lost your way due to the sheer size of the house, but now you know the quickest route to the kitchen by heart. Even when half-asleep, you know exactly where to go. 

The light flicks on with a quiet buzz when you gently press the switch. 

Quietly, you wonder if the ultimate prize for winning the Games was running water. It's cold, as it splashes over your fingers and into the basin. There are plenty of pristine, artisan glasses and whatnot in the overhead cabinets— probably made in District One— but you always reach for the mugs you had before. The ones with a couple of cracks and dents littering their bodies— evidence of their long lifespans. 

You lean against the counter as you take a long gulp of water. It's pleasant, the feeling pooling low in your chest. 

The silence used to be unnerving, but now, you welcome it with open arms. 

You take another, smaller sip from your mug. Maybe you'll be able to sleep for another few hours. Until the sun rises, at least. Then, you can take a walk. You can wander around all you like here, provided that you don't stray too far. Regardless, you're sure nobody will be too concerned about that. Haymitch is the sole man responsible for the lax rules concerning the victors. 

You're still not sure if you like him or not. 

Slowly, you finish your drink. But, just as you're ready to set it into the sink and head back upstairs—

—the phone's ringing. 

You can hear it pretty clearly, even if it's muffled. 

Who could be calling at this hour? Furrowing your brow, you put down the mug and start heading down the hallway, towards the study. You're well aware that Haymitch tore his phone out of the wall ages ago, so it couldn't be him. Nobody from your District calls you, either. And if you get any calls from outside the District, they're usually during the daytime. Not at two-ish in the morning. The Capitol may be invasive, but they're not that invasive. They need their beauty rest, you figure.  

So, taking all of that into consideration, that only leaves— 

"Peeta?" You mutter, upon picking up the phone. 

There's a beat of silence. 

"Hello," he replies. 

It's a bit hard to tell over the line, but he sounds nearly as groggy as you. Delicately, you shut the door of the study behind you with a quiet click. Just in case. 

"Is something wrong?" You allow yourself to be a little louder, now that there's a barrier between you and the rest of the house. "Couldn't sleep?" 

"Something like that." There's a slight rustling. "I mean— nothing new, right?" Even though you know he meant it as a joke, the grim truth makes it fall flat. 

Still, you breathe out a quiet laugh. "Nothing's changed." Affixing your gaze on one of the chairs sitting around the mahogany table, you fiddle with the telephone cord. "Did you, uh— did you need something, though?" 

Peeta hesitates again. 

"I just—" He cuts himself off. "I'm sorry for calling you so late." He's entirely earnest in a way that makes you ache. "Did I wake you up?" 

He's also dodging the question, even if he is genuinely worried about your sleep schedule. 

"No, you didn't," you assert, "don't worry about that. It's fine." 

"Okay," he responds, relief palpable despite the crackly quality. 

The telephone cord is somewhat cold where it rests on your knuckles. You continue to twist it around your idle hand. 

"You still haven't answered my question, by the way."  

Peeta audibly exhales. 

"Oh." More rustling. "Yeah. I, um—" he clears his throat, "—yeah, I do need something, actually." 

That could mean a lot of things. Does he just need to talk? You know he does, sometimes. Or maybe he just needs some more flour, and is too embarrassed to admit it. He does seem like the type of guy to stress-bake in the wee hours of the morning. However, you seriously doubt that he wants anything related to that. 

"What is it?" You ask, finally. 

His next words are rushed, as if he's afraid that if he says them slowly, he'll never get them out. 

"Could you come over? I just—" it's only a momentary gap, "—don't wanna be alone right now." 

Ah. 

The thing is, you understand. You know what it's like. And there's only one possible response that you can give right now. Vividly, you can see him— the cave—  his face, shining with a cold sweat, his eyes scrunched tightly in pain— 

"Okay." You're already mentally mapping out where to go. "I'll be there in a few." 

-- 

When he opens the door, Peeta looks exhausted. 

But when he smiles at you, there's still that light in his eyes. That look he gets whenever you're around. It used to make you feel sick to your stomach, but now— now, you're not quite sure how to feel. You've been told that in comparison to him, you're rather good at keeping your feelings hidden underneath the surface. It's been necessary, after all. 

"You're here," he says after a beat, as if he expected anything else. 

"I'm here," you echo. 

Wordlessly, he steps aside to let you pass by. Somehow, although the layout of his house is exactly the same as yours, his still feels different. Warmer. A little cozier. The remnants of something sweet are still floating through the air, and you glance back at him. Maybe you were right about the possibility of him making cookies— or apple turnovers. Or those little cakes. 

"Been baking?" You ask. 

"Earlier," he clarifies, shutting the door behind you. 

"Smells nice." 

Peeta lingers by your side. "Want some?" 

"If that's okay." 

"It's always been okay." He raises his eyebrows. "How many times have I told you that you don't even need to ask?" 

You shoot him a look. "Doesn't hurt to ask." 

Flawlessly, he copies your expression. "How do you know that?" 

"It's called being polite, Peeta." 

"Polite," he repeats. "Polite…" 

You let out a short sigh. 

"Just show me where they are." 

He gives you a shit-eating grin. "And there it is." 

You don't even bother trying to respond; he's already padding past you, anyway. It's a short trip to the kitchen. His is more cluttered than yours— recently-used, more lived-in. There are more dishes in the sink, more stuff on the counter. But your eyes are drawn to the two wire baking racks on the stovetop. On top of them sit around two dozen pastries. They're prettily decorated with pink, blue, and white icing, and you take some time to admire them as you join him in front of the stove. 

"You've outdone yourself," you can't help but murmur. "Wow." 

At your compliment, Peeta instantly turns bashful. 

"Oh, thanks." Of course, he can't let those words sit. "It's— it's not my best work, but I—" 

His volume drops, and he pauses. 

"Well— my hands were shaking, so…"

Abruptly, you turn your attention away from the pastries. 

He notices, interrupting you before you can even open your mouth to speak. 

"I know what you're gonna ask," he says, softly. "And, yeah, I do want to talk about it. Just—" Peeta sucks in a breath. "Just not now, okay? Give it a little while." The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he gestures towards the racks. 

"Eat." 

You consider pressing the question. You consider urging him— did it happen again? Was it worse this time? It had to have been worse, considering that he wanted you over in the first place. Just thinking about it makes your stomach perform an uneasy flip. You can read Peeta. And right now, you can read the bags under his eyes. The tiredness he's trying to fight away. 

However, you don't want to push him. You don't want to break him down. Not again. 

So, you take a pastry. 

It's really, very good. 

Peeta takes one for himself, too, and you eat in silence. You know that despite your frequent approval of his various baked goods, he's still carefully watching your reaction; you make sure to look pleased, and it isn't hard at all. He seems satisfied. You're also satisfied. Once you've finished your pastry, you lick the remnants of the icing off your fingers. 

You pretend not to notice the way he stares— briefly, before forcing his gaze away. 

You pretend to ignore the way your heart skips. 

Mercifully, he breaks the awkward tension. 

 "Do you— would you want to take some home?" He asks, after swallowing. "We both know that I'm not gonna eat 'em all." 

"Oh, yeah, I'll take some," you answer. Thinking for a second, you add, "Were you going to risk bringing some to Haymitch, or—" 

He snorts. "Not this time." 

"More for me, then." 

"And your family, you mean?" 

You smile. There's no way that you're going to give up those pastries without a fight. 

"Sure. And my family."

Peeta doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he returns your smile all the same. 

-- 

He always keeps his bedroom windows open at night. 

You're not exactly sure why, but you suppose it's because he runs warm. Always. 

The duvet's soft on your bare skin, and his hands are gentle. With the way your head is positioned, if you move your ear just so, you can hear his heartbeat thumping through his chest. A steady rhythm. He's calm, and so are you. You're certain that you could fall asleep like this— if it weren't for the fact that you have other, more important priorities right now. 

When you look up at him, shifting an increment closer, he talks. 

"I thought things were getting better." His Adam's apple bobs as you watch. "I thought that— that things were gonna start improving. That I'd— " He trails off, for a second. 

"That I'd start going back to normal, I guess. But I should've known that it's… It's impossible." His gaze is focused on the ceiling. "It was hopeless to try and believe that I could just keep on going like nothing happened at all." 

You find your voice. 

"But you still tried?" 

The chuckle he lets out is completely humorless. 

"Yeah, I tried." 

He's always been optimistic— he's always trying to see the best in people. And seeing him like this makes you feel hopeless. You know what he's going through. It's essentially the same thing that you're going through. However, it's not like you can read minds. He knows the right words to say, but you don't. Even though you wish you could. Words— even though actions can speak louder than them— still mean a lot. You turn that word over in your head a couple of times. Actions. 

"What happened?" You ask, quietly. 

 A beat. 

"I let down my guard," he starts, volume barely a whisper. "I was confident in my stability. I thought that I wouldn't— break down, or anything. Because it had been a few weeks, and—" 

His eyes shut. Tightly. "God, I'm stupid." 

"You're not," you rush to interject, "don't say that." 

Peeta lets out another huff. "But it was stupid. To assume that I'd be okay, I mean. I should've— I should've expected it, at least." He quickly carries on. "Even after everything, I still let myself fall into a routine." 

I still let myself fall back into a routine, you know what he means. The bad dreams pale in comparison to the real monsters that loom over the both of you. Haymitch is a living example of what can happen; what will happen, if you don't hold on to tight control of the hypothetical reins. You ache. 

"Don't blame yourself for any of this," you murmur, "please. It's not your fault. Not in the slightest." You have to speak slowly, pace yourself. Keep yourself from everything you want to say. "Even if you tried to— I don't know, stay hyper-aware of everything— it would still come crashing down eventually." A breath. "It's inevitable, Peeta. It's always going to be here." 

"But I don't want it to be here," he chokes out, "I really, really don't!" 

You push yourself up from your previous position. His eyes are open now, wide and looking up at you. 

When you move backward and open your arms, he's on you in an instant. 

You rock back and forth, gently. You're not sure which one of you is holding onto the other tighter. Clinging would be a better word. His face is pressed firmly into your shoulder. You can feel him shaking. 

Despite everything, he won't let himself make any noise when he cries. 

You don't know how long you stay like this. It could be minutes. Hours, even. All you can feel and register is him. Peeta. He's trembling. The barely-there sensation, combined with the undeniable tightness of his arms. His hands. It's almost like he thinks that if he loosens his hold, even by just the slightest fraction, you'll suddenly disappear. 

That you'll cease to exist. 

That you'll become not real.  

When you finally draw back— slowly, tentatively, and only because he does it first— 

He sniffs, eyes red. They're not brimming with unshed tears, but they're still wet. You can't help but thumb away what little remains on his lower lids, even though you know that you probably look about the same. 

Peeta returns the gesture. 

Unlike you, though, he lingers, hand dropping to cup your cheek. 

There's a moment. 

You've done this before, of course. You've held each other. Comforted each other, brought each other back down. But since the end of the Games— since you've gotten away from the clamoring audiences desperate for a romance despite the sick circumstances— you haven't done anything more than that. 

You haven't kissed him since the end of the Games. 

But right now, you realize that you want to. More than anything. Anyone could see that Peeta wants it, too. Maybe even more than you do. 

So, when he leans in— just barely— closing the distance— 

It's practiced, at first. Familiar. Almost nostalgic. 

But then he melts, and it's suddenly something completely different.  

Peeta lets you softly maneuver him down onto the mattress, up against the pillows that are still too soft for your liking. He kisses you in the way those terrible poets describe— it's all excessively large bouquets, a clear starry night, longing looks across a crowded room, and—  

It's real. 

He gives. You take, and exchange it for everything you have in return. His hand stays on your cheek, the other behind your head, pulling you down. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. You lose yourself in the feeling. Whenever you part, it's only out of necessity, and you're soon leaning back in. You're making up for lost time— you're making up for every action you didn't mean, every word that was too sugary-sweet. 

Soon, your kisses grow deeper. And neither of you wants to stop. 

It's only when his hands are trailing down your body, down to the hem of your shirt, that you bother addressing it. Even if you want this— so, so desperately— you don't want to force anything in a situation that doesn't require it. Just kissing is nice. It's very nice. Nice enough that it takes a little while for you to regain control of your mouth. 

"Is this—" 

—and he's already speaking. Hushed, like you. 

"Please." 

It's almost embarrassing, what that single word does to you. But you barrel on. 

"It's okay?" You ask, "Just say if it's not, and I'll stop—" 

"—I just," Peeta visibly struggles with what to say for a moment, before settling on: 

"Need you," he says. "Please." 

It's more than enough, and you're in no place to deny him for much longer. You recapture his lips, welcoming his touch. His hands on your back, then your waist, then your hips again. His grip is firm, but not overly so. He would never hurt you, after all. Especially not here. Especially after what he's witnessed. 

His hands are warm and calloused on your bare skin. Strong, with all the work he's done since he was old enough to knead dough. You have to sit up in order to take off your nightshirt, and he takes the opportunity to do the same with his. You've already seen him shirtless, and at close proximity, too— but it wasn't like this. You couldn't trail over every little detail with your lips, back then. 

Peeta shivers, letting out a short giggle when you press a kiss to his stomach. He's sturdy, that's for sure. Impressive biceps, a toned chest. He's beautiful, and you tell him so. You think he blushes, but it's difficult to say for certain from your position. You're too focused on finding all the little freckles you can. 

He likes it when you kiss his neck, breath audibly hitching when you do so. 

But even though he lets you entertain yourself for a decent while, he makes sure to return the favor. He's never liked being in the spotlight for long, after all. And he wants. 

He finds all of your scars, from the arena. From before the arena, too. He maps them out, painstakingly, mimicking the way you'd kissed him all over earlier. Sensitive, he notes, when you make a small noise when his thumbs find your nipples. Soft, he observes, as his fingers slip underneath your waistband, moving lower. 

Soon, you're completely exposed, and he is too. 

Peeta pays more attention to certain parts of you— your thighs, your chest— but he doesn't skip over anything in particular. He wants to know everything; he wants to learn everything. And he's eager to learn. By the time he reaches the spot between your legs, you're already wanting for him. You've grown needy from his kisses, his caresses. You can feel him against your thigh— he's just as needy as you. 

His fingers are clumsy, at first. But they're strong, and you guide him. One, then two. Then another. His breath is loud, and he hums, biting his lower lip at your quiet moan after you tell him how to crook his fingers. You jolt when he finds your clit, paying careful attention to it while he works you open. 

At your whispered insistence, he grips himself by the base— already having put on protection— you don't care enough to ask exactly how he obtained it— and he pushes in. The groan he lets out sounds like it's been punched from his gut. 

He sets a slow, measured pace. Almost awkward at first, but he's a fast learner. He learns what angle makes you spread your legs wider for him. You wouldn't even use fucking to describe what you're doing— somehow, that word's too rough. He kisses you, nose bumping against yours. Most of your noises are muffled against his lips, but he takes them all the same. He absorbs them, and drinks them in. Drinks you in. 

"Peeta," you sigh, and he breathes your name in return, before ducking to kiss your shoulder. Your collarbone. Your neck. 

He comes first, twitching, pulsing deep within you. He stifles his whimper by tucking his face into the divot between your shoulder and your neck— but you can still feel it. You help him ride it out, until his thrusts falter, and his hips still. 

It's a few moments of limbo, in which he catches his breath. He meets your eyes. His are hazy, half-lidded. He kisses you. 

Then, he pulls out— disposes of the garbage, of course— and wastes no time in making his way down your body, to where you need him most. 

You're certain that he's never eaten anybody out before, but he's a natural. He's enthusiastic— much more so than when he was inside you. This is just for your pleasure, now. When you thread a hand through his tousled hair, he moans into you, increasing his efforts tenfold. He doesn't care for the mess— or the noise, as he laps at you. He doesn't even care for his own need to breathe. Peeta just wants to give. 

His brow is furrowed in concentration as he rapidly pulls you closer to orgasm. You can do little but take. And when you finally topple over your peak— 

"—that's so good, ah— Peeta, I'm gonna— ohh—" 

You cry out, heat rolling low in your abdomen— gathering, passing through your entire body. 

You float on blissful waves, and he licks at you through it all. For a single, brief moment, your mind is perfectly calm. 

When you relax, the warmth steadying to a hum, he notices and stops working at you. He wriggles a little, and leans forward to rest his chin on your stomach while you catch your breath. You can feel his, too, and it's hot on your skin. Peeta seems reluctant to take his eyes off you just yet. 

It's quiet, you register. You're reluctant to ruin it, but he looks pretty messy. 

"I should get you a towel or something," you say. 

He cracks a smile, his eyes softening. "Should you?" 

"Yeah." You're powerless not to return it. "But, you know, for me to get the towel, you have to get off me." 

"So demanding." 

You let out a short, offended sound. "Hey, that's just—" 

"I'm getting up." And he does. 

It doesn't take long to clean up, and the obnoxious white fluorescent lights of the bathroom don't blind you for long. Again, Peeta looks on while you wipe off his face— this close, you notice how brilliantly blue his eyes are. You notice the precise angles of his jaw. His cheek. He's probably doing the same to you— tracing the contours of your face. 

To your relief, you're back in his bed a few minutes later. He completely shuts off the lights, flicking off his bedside lamp, and then crawls under the duvet with you. You're not sure if it's creepy or weird to enjoy it, but everything here smells like him. A sort of earthy, warm scent. Even though you're both well aware of the multiple floral shampoos that the Capitol has to offer— he still retains that one thing. 

You're comfortable. You're safe. 

Peeta wraps his arms around you from behind. 

You're not sure if you should say something or not, but he does it first. 

"You'll stay?" Whispered, into the stillness. 

"Of course." Without hesitation. 

His grip tightens, almost imperceptibly. 

"Thank you," he breathes.  

The words are stuck in your throat. 

You can't bring yourself to say them, even though you know you'd mean them. Every single syllable. 

But you have time. You can tell him tomorrow, even. Or the day after that. Tonight, you didn't say it aloud, but you still told him all the same. 

You understand exactly how you feel, just before you drift off. 

You love him. 

[callmearcturus]

dottie lasso is the final boss of the show (and ted loses)

someone commented on my ted-is-a-feminine-junior-too post about recognizing dottie lasso and what she did, and i'm a Johnny-come-lately to this fandom so i missed all the discourse

but surely it's been discussed to death that Dottie Lasso is the Final Boss of Ted's life, right? like, she shows up on that bench and you should feel the opening of "MEGALOVANIA" in your soul because she's the villain of the story.

honestly, in Ted Lasso, the main villains are: Rupert Mannion, Twitter, Rupert Mannion again, cisnormativity/heteronormativity, and Dottie Lasso, kind of in that order IMO.

"Mom City" is kind of a genius episode with its thesis and punchline. Because Dottie shows up and derails Ted's entire life and not in a good way. She makes him palpably uncomfortable and all of his usual kindness and interest is just turned off around her.

This episode isn't shy about reminding the audience that Richmond has become Ted's home. From the most fish outta water who nearly gets killed looking the wrong way crossing the street, Ted knows his neighbors, knows the culture here, and is defensive with that knowledge because it's been hard-won over time.

No but really, look at how UNCOMFORTABLE Ted is EVERY MINUTE of this episode. It's so stark bc this charm offensive Dottie's doing on everyone at Richmond is so clearly a Lasso Thing. This is the exact tactic Ted used when he was new in town and completely at sea.

(fuck this got long, there's a lot more under the jump)

But he isn't charmed or permissive or entertained, he never once Yes, Ands what Dottie says. In fact, he corrects her all the time.

jesus fuck look at this specific moment!!!

who the fuck are you and where is ted

because Dottie being here is a nightmare. she's the person who knows the Ted Lasso Source Code and the way she maneuvers and nudges him, he seems helpless against it. So he continuously separates himself from her in what feels to me like a fearful reaction.

Like, when Dottie explains where she's staying, she does this trick

DOTTIE: An adorable little hostel. I've met so many Australians. They are backpacking through Europe. So much sex. TED: Mom. DOTTIE: Not me, the Australians. TED: No, no, I get it, okay. How about you stay here for the rest of your trip, all right? DOTTIE: Only if I'm not a hassle.

This is such a fucking move, you realize? She has been in London a fucking WEEK without telling him, then as soon as she tells him where she's staying, she, a midwestern mom to her open-minded but very romantically private son, invokes sex so he'll be uncomfortable with the situation and invite her to stay. This is a chess move they should call the Wichita Shuffle.

And Ted absolutely hates the way Dottie lies about him. The connection is pretty straightforward; Dottie deals with her trauma and pain by covering them up with pretty little lies and melting truths until they fit the shape she wants them to be in. Everything she says in this episode is bullshit.

(points up) THIS INCLUDED, BTW. This is the Ted that Dottie wants him to be, the guy who will fall on his sword at the first sign of someone else's discomfort.

But that isn't who Ted is anymore and Dottie saying this is vicious and cruel. It's disrespectful to Rebecca, to everyone at Richmond, and to the work Ted's done with Sharon.

which oooooooooh

hey, anyone else remember Ted's "I love meeting people's moms, it's like an instruction manual on why they're nuts" from S2? boy that's a brick joke

and this bit of dottie saying her anxiety re: ted's therapy out loud, that hissing sound is a fuse being lit in this moment

Ted calls her out directly. He knows how she operates because she raised him in her own image. As I noted in the other post, Leslie Higgins is not the only feminine junior at Richmond, so is Theodore Lasso, son of Dorothy Lasso.

THAT FUCKING DARK CHUCKLE, THE "YEAH OKAY" MOMENT this is the fuse finally reaching the dynamite

this is the moment, this moment of push-back, implicitly the first time Ted's ever pushed back in his life

this is the moment Dottie takes every single thing she knows about Ted, everything she put into him, and she destroys his fucking life with the exact four words it would take to make Ted give up everything he's worked for, all so he'll go back to being what she expects from him.

and hell if he doesn't know it.

everything he's done for himself, all the space he's finally allowed himself to fill, the progress and labor he's put into becoming a better person

mom shows up and tells him no, you're coming back.

(and the fact Dottie Lasso, a character who has not said five truthful things this entire episode, tells us how someone else feels should be questioned very fucking directly. i don't trust this woman to honestly report on Henry's opinion of peanut butter and jelly, let alone if he wants his father to give up his life and return to Kansas. i know every single fic has brought up the question of "hey why doesn't anyone ask Henry what he wants" but that's because SOMEONE needs to ask the question instead of taking Dorothy fucking Lasso's word for it, christ)

I don't know how tf you don't read this show as a tragedy. Dottie Lasso is incredible, she's so pitch-perfectly written and acted, and she's absolutely the final boss of the show. And Ted doesn't win that fight.

hell THE SHOW SAYS THE QUIET PART OUT LOUD, i would put the screencap here but I've run out of images, but THEY FUCK YOU UP, YOUR MUM AND DAD, THE SHOW SAYS IT this is a fantastic tragedy, i love it

[judeswhore]

trick or treat

summary: jude just has to give the pretty trick or treater his number

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

notes: you can find my masterlist here. i don’t like this :( but oh well

"i wanna go to this house." elena stated, tugging lightly on your hand to turn you towards a house with a red door, her gaze fixated on the pumpkins set on either side of the entrance. she'd chosen that house, you knew, because of the great big "welcome" sign stuck to the front, each word dripping fake blood. whoever owned the house had done a better job at decorating than anyone else on the street and it immediately had the little girl thinking of the sweets she could get from inside.

before you could argue against it she was pulling you along with her, her bucket, already half full, swinging happily at her side. elena was a family friends daughter, a feisty seven year old who you'd been babysitting for years at this point and trick or treating on halloween was a tradition for the two of you. like every year she'd gotten you to dress up and this years costume was a simple fairy, a pretty green dress with fake wings that kept snagging on fences as you walked past. elena was a witch.

"hurry up!" a very bossy witch.

with a huff you let her drag you up the path, your eyes trailing along the windows of the house which seemed so dark you wondered if anyone was even home. elena was quick to knock on the door, bucket held in front of her as she flashed her biggest, brightest smile. her missing front tooth made her sickeningly adorable to most people and had definitely played a hand in why she'd gotten so many sweets.

there was a few moments of complete silence and you watched the little girls smile falter a slightly, her head turning so she could frown up at you. "where are-" her words were cut short when the front door finally swung inwards, her smile returning immediately. "trick or treat!"

the smell of pizza and tinkle of laughter hit your senses immediately, multiple voices overlapping each other to the point you couldn't make out the loud conversation happening just inside the house. the doorway had been taken up by an overly large body, all long legs and broad shoulders, cutting through the light that was spilling out from the hallway. something caught in the back of your throat, a noise halfway between a gasp and a cough when you lifted your eyes and met his gaze.

he was stupidly good looking. the kind of good looking that only ever brought trouble and heartbreak and your tummy was a riot of flutters over the crooked smile he was throwing your way. definitely your way. elena was too small to even be in his eye line. there was a spark of mischief in his dark eyes despite the sleepy look about them, all heavy lids and pretty lashes and you wondered just how many girls had gotten in trouble over those eyes.

you must have been staring in silence for more than a few moments because elena suddenly let out an impatient huff, her elbow digging harshly into your leg. she was glaring at you. “say it.”

the boy in the doorway cocked an eyebrow, presumably about the attitude and glanced between you and the girl at your side, curiosity sparking his gaze. with a roll of your eyes, you attempted a smile, one that seemed a little wobbly under the attention of someone so hot and raised the little pumpkin bucket you’d been carrying.

“trick or treat.” if possible, the boy’s smile grew even bigger, a full toothy grin that did something to your heart that surely wasn’t healthy. he leant a little against the doorframe, hands tucked into the front pockets of his grey joggers. the movement made his shirt stretch out a little over his chest and you cursed elena for choosing this house. why would she choose this guys house when you’re dressed as a knock off tinkerbell in a dress two sizes too small?

“depends,” there was a playful lilt to his voice and your body burnt as he shamelessly ran his eyes over the length of you. he lingered a little on your thighs, over exposed in your stupid dress, and again on your boobs, straining just a little beneath the green material. if your heart jumped anymore it was going to give out. “are you my treat?”

oh.

“i-uh- i’m not-“ you stumbled through a few potential answers, none of which would fully come out because your brain had stopped short and left you unable to form a coherent sentence. he was flirting. you were certain that was flirting and you were floundering like an idiot because no one this hot should be flirting with a girl in a stupid tinkerbell costume. the glint in his eyes seemed a little brighter at your response, his smile more a teasing smirk and he was standing a little straighter, almost looking proud of the effect he was having on you verbal abilities.

“excuse me, sir, you’re supposed to give us treats.” elena’s voice cut through your momentary daze and had you snorting a laugh, your finger knocking her witches hat askew.

“elena, don’t be rude.” you tried to sound firm but her glare at the lack of sweets was overly amusing. the little girl was about as scary as a kitten.

“no, she’s right. gimme a second.” the boy disappeared back into the house and elena turned her gaze up to you, catching you red handed with your eyes glued to his ass. she was grinning manically, hopping from foot to foot.

“he likes you.” she singsonged, rattling the sweets in her bucket until you pressed a hand over hers in hopes of getting her to stop. it didn’t stop the next words from tumbling out of her. “he was looking at you the way my dad looks at my mum before they start kissing.” she grimaced at that, clearly not happy about her parents public affection.

“he was not. stop being a gossip and fix your hat.” the hat was still sitting awkwardly on her head and she fumbled with it for a few seconds while trying to set it straight. she opened her mouth, no doubt to say something else ridiculous, but the pretty boy had reappeared in the doorway, a tub of sweets and chocolate bars held in his hands.

he dropped to a crouch in front of elena and shook the tub. “pick whatever you want.”

“do i just get one?”

“elena.” you muttered her name through a sigh but the boy was shaking his head, that grin curling his lips again. for a second you were distracted by his thighs, the thickness of them as he balanced in front of the little girl and only tugged your gaze up when he spoke again.

“no, it’s okay. y’can take as many as you want, don’t want you casting a spell on me to make my ears fall off.” he teased and elena giggled, seemingly just as charmed as you by his smile. she dug around in the box, brows furrowed as she searched for what she wanted.

“i wouldn’t make your ears fall off.”

“no?”

“no. i’d turn you into a frog.” she dropped a mars bar into her bucket before rifling through the treats again. the boy gave a thoughtful hum as he watched her knock a bag of haribos to the side.

“forever? or will you turn me back if i’m good?” he asked, shaking the tub just a little so she could see the sweets tucked at the bottom. you watched his jaw work as he chewed the inside of his cheek, your attention snagging on the stubble growing over the sharp line and across his chin. you were surprised by how badly you wanted to feel the roughness of it against your palm.

“nope. you have to kiss a princess or you’ll be a frog forever.”

“what about your friend? if i kiss her will i be saved?”

“yn’s not a princess. she’s a fairy.” elena gave him a “duh” sort of look that had him huffing a laugh but you were too busy trying not to think about kissing him. it was ridiculous to be so worked up about a stranger.

“well i don’t think i know any princesses.”

“then you’re going to have to live as a frog.” elena had absolutely no sympathy for the situation, completely unbothered as she dropped her final chocolate into her bucket with a grin. she shook the pumpkin. “chocolate is my favourite.”

“you’re also not allowed it past 6pm.” you pointed out, peering into the bucket with a grimace because her parents were going to kill you for all the chocolate bars. you’d promised light trick or treating but elena was taking home a whole chocolate factory.

“you’ll have to eat it in secret.” the boy told her as he straightened up, his gaze darting from you to the little girl. “i’m sure you could ignore one sugar rush for the sake of halloween.”

“you wouldn’t be saying that if you were the one who had to lure her into bed when she refuses to come out of the tree house.” that earned you a snort and a smile pulled at your lips. at your side elena started to tug on the bottom of your skirt, clearly eager to try a few more houses before her bedtime. you knocked your bucket against hers. “say thank you.”

“thank you for the chocolate, mister!” she beamed up at him and his laugh was full this time, a musical sound that made your tummy dip dangerously.

“don’t eat it all at once.”

“i won’t.”

“she will.” you mumbled and elena glared, pulled a little harsher on your skirt. you turned a smile towards the boy in the doorway. “thanks for the chocolate. you should’ve just given her a mini mars bar and told her to shove off.”

“and risk turning into a frog? nah.” he dipped his hand into his joggers and pulled out a slip of paper, held it out to you with a smile. you took it with a curious frown, felt your heart leap at the scrawl of numbers, JUDE and TEXT ME, written underneath.

“what’s this?”

“your treat.”

[ihave-atummyache]

you’re mine

han jisung one shot

stray kids smut

NSFW 18++

smut smut smut!! (i’ll put warning under the cut)

2.5k words

nsfw content: jealousy, fighting, name calling, mentions of reader slapping but they don’t make contact, manhandling, choking, gagging, dacryphilia, rough sex, fingering, degradation, nicknames, breeding kink, creampie (safe sex is the best sex), lowkey toxic jisung, hickeys, overstimulation errrrr i think thats all

"Are you happy with yourself?" Jisung's voice makes you roll your eyes and the clank of his keys on the table just makes you more annoyed. You shrug off your jacket and put it on the coat rack before heading towards the kitchen. You hear Jisung's footsteps following you close behind which just makes your annoyance burn more.

"So now you're ignoring me?" You usually love his voice, it often brings you immediate comfort but right now, it’s doing nothing but pissing you off more. You grab a water bottle from the fridge and crack it open, your back still turned to him.

"Answer me." His voice is commanding and you can't stop your annoyance from finally materializing. You slam your water bottle down on the counter, water sloshing out the top before whipping around to face him.

"Can you shut the fuck up? You're doing nothing but pissing me off more. You already ruined my night so just fuck. off." You nudge past him to walk towards your bedroom but he grabs your arm, pushing you against the kitchen island and slotting a leg between your's, preventing you from moving.

"Can you stop being a cunt for two seconds and listen to me?" His voice is full of venom and your mouth forms a surprised smile, your eyebrows practically in your hairline.

"So now I'm the cunt? Fuck you, Jisung," You spit before pushing him away from you. He grips your wrist again and you automatically bring a hand up to slap him but he catches your other wrist before you can make contact.

"So now you want to hit me? What did I do wrong? You were all over your friend, Hyunjin back there and now I'm the bad guy?!" he snarls at you and you narrow your eyes at him, your tongue running across your teeth.

"Our friend, Hyunjin, and you didn't have to fucking push him. Now all the boys and all my friends think you're fucking crazy, Jisung. Do you get that? All because you can't get over this stupid fucking insecurity of your's," you know you're hitting close to home but you honestly couldn't care less.

The two of you were at a party earlier, celebrating one of the boys' many awards and according to Jisung, you and Hyunjin had been getting a little too close. Sure he had his hand on your lower back and was leaning in and whispering to you but Jisung made it very clear that the two of you are not together.

The boys have heard the same thing many times from him. Any time anyone tries to associate the two of you, he is quick to deny the two of you being in a relationship, despite the two of you fucking for the past couple of months.

That being said, what's wrong with Hyunjin getting a little touchy? You're single. He's single. You're both hot. There's no problems there.

"I'm not insecure, y/n. You're fucking mine and I need to get that through your head and everyone else's. Nobody can touch you but me," he takes a step closer to you, his eyes dark and trained on yours. You gulp, holding his gaze.

"No. I'm not. You have made it very clear to everyone that we aren't together. You can't stake some claim on me as soon as someone else starts showing me attention. It isn't fair," you refute and his jaw clenches at your words. You're not wrong but he doesn't want to admit it.

He takes another step closer to you, his hand wraps around your jaw gently, forcing you to keep eye contact with him.

"Is that right, darling?" His words are husky and your gaze flickers down to his lips for a moment, only a few inches from yours before you meet his gaze again. You're like putty in his hands and you know it just as much as he does.

You hold his gaze for a few moments before his own eyes glance at your lips again then you make eye contact again. He finally breaks the silence when you don’t reply.

"I asked you a question, princess," his voice is soft but you can still since the anger beneath his words.

"I know. And you heard me the first time so I'm not repeating myself," you stand your ground, despite every fiber of your being telling you to fold. He chuckles, humorlessly, his breath fanning across your face.

"This little attitude is turning me on," his words catch you off guard, your eyes growing wide at the confession, "Is that your goal? You want me to fuck you until the only name you know is mine?" He asks, his thumb running across your bottom lip, testing just how angry you are with him.

He gently pushes his thumb against your mouth and you immediately part your lips, letting him push his thumb against your tongue. You let your lips close around him, sucking around the digit.

"Such a good girl, even when you're upset with me, aren't you?" His voice is low, husky and your eyes flutter closed as you suck on his thumb. He pulls his finger from your mouth, dragging it down your chin and neck, leaving a wet trail in it's wake. He settles his hand across your collarbone, fingers rubbing across the bone gently.

Jisung leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of your neck before letting his lips part and biting down on your pulse point, making you whimper out at the pain before his tongue soothes across the spot.

“J-Ji. No marks,” you breathe out and he replies by sucking down on another spot before he pulls his head from your neck and locks eyes with you again.

“You’re mine. I’ll do what I please with you. If I want to leave my mark on you, I will. Do you understand?” His tone is unlike one you have ever heard from him before and you swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly becoming dry before you nod.

His hand grabs your cheeks, pushing together and forcing your lips to pucker as he looks down on you.

“I asked you a question. When I speak to you, I expect you to speak back,” His jaw clenches again and you nod before stuttering out a quiet ‘yes’ then his lips are on your’s. His tongue makes it’s way into you mouth quickly and you moan around the messy kiss.

When he gets needy like this, his kisses are always messy. A mixture of spit and tongue and groping hands but you can’t help loving every fucking second. It’s so primal, purely controlled by your urge to rip each other’s clothes off. You reach your hands up to tangle into his hair but he quickly grabs both your wrists and pulls away from your lips.

“Turn around,” His voice is commanding but he barely gives you time to process the words before he’s using his grip on your wrists to turn you around. He places both your hands on the kitchen island, lightly running his finger tips up your arms until he reaches the straps of your dress on your shoulders.

“Keep your hands to yourself, baby. I’m still upset with you,” His voice is full of command and you lean forward, putting weight into your hands.

He steps closer to you, his erection pressing against your ass in the tight dress and all you can hear is the sound of both of your breathing and your own heart pounding in your ears. He slides one of the straps off your shoulder and places a kiss on the bare skin before doing the same to the other strap.

He pulls the dress down just enough for your breasts to fall out. His hands wrap around and grab each one of your tits, making a gasp fall from your lips as his cold hands make contact with your sensitive nipples.

He groans behind you, his hips rutting against your ass as his fingers begin to tweak your nipples. You reach one hand up to place on his over your boob but he quickly grabs your hand and slams it back onto the marble countertop.

“What did I say?”

He pinches your nipple a bit too hard, making you yelp when you don’t reply.

“T-to keep m-my hands to myself,” your voice is breathy as he continue to grind against your still covered ass.

“So you can be a good girl? Why do I have to be mean for you to behave for me?” Before you can reply to him, one of his hands leaves your exposed tits and he pushes his middle and ring finger into your mouth. He pushes further into your throat, making you gag.

“There you go,” His other hands finds your hair wrapping in the strands, before he pulls, making your head fall back onto his shoulder. Between the sting of his fingers in your hair and down your throat, your eyes start to water.

“Look so pretty for me. All for me. This is my mouth. This is my body. These are my tits and this,” his hand leaves your mouth, skillfully finding its way into your panties and pressing against your bare pussy, making you moan, “is my cunt. You belong to me, y/n. Get that through your thick fucking skull,” the underlying insult makes more tears spring to your eyes but it also makes more wetness gather on his fingers against your heat.

“You’re so fucking wet for me. It’s sad you think that anyone else can get you half as wet as I can, baby. You’re made for me,” he grunts into your ear before finally pushing a finger into you. Your eyes flutter closed, pushing the tears from your waterline and onto your cheeks.

He leans forward, licking the salty liquid from your cheek as he begins to slowly pump his finger in and out. He adds another quickly and speeds his fingers up inside of you. His other hand pushes your dress down more so it’s just a strip of fabric around your waist before he leans back slightly and wraps his hand around the back of your neck. He pushes you forward, pushing your chest against the island before he pulls his hand from you.

You hear his belt unbuckling behind you and you bite your lip in anticipation. You start to turn your head to look at him but his hand quickly returns, pushing your cheek against the cold counter.

You feel him pull your panties to the side before you can feel the head of his cock brushing against your pussy.

“You want me to fuck you now? Spoiled brat. This greedy pussy is practically begging me to push in,” his words are hoarse and you nod a few times before he pushes just the head of his cock in, making you slam your hand down on the counter top.

“Beg for it.” His words throw you off, your words getting caught in your throat.

“Please?” your voice isn’t much more than a whisper and you hear him chuckle behind you, continuing to rut just the head of his cock in and out of you.

“Oh come on. That was pathetic. I know you can do better than that baby,” you can hear the smile in his voice and his cocky tone just turns you on that much more.

“Please, Ji. Please fuck me. I want everyone to know I belong to you. Please, baby. Please. I’m being good. So good. I’ll keep being a good girl just please-” He cuts your ramble off by pushing his entire length into you, making you let out a much louder moan than you expected.

“Sound so pretty begging me to fuck you like that,” his voice can barely be heard because of him beginning to fuck you, hard. Your hips are digging into the edge of the counter every time he thrusts forwards and the sound of skin slapping is absolutely obscene.

He grabs the strip of fabric that your dress has become around your waist and uses it as leverage to fuck you harder. Every thrust in, he pulls you harder into him. Suddenly one of his hands reaches down and grips your panties, ripping them away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping echoes through the kitchen and you moan. You hear the fabric hit the floor as he speeds up his thrusts more.

“T-touch me. Please, baby. Please. Touch me please,” You’re rambling again and he chuckles, his hand wrapping around and rubbing circles on your clit.

“As you wish,” he lays his chest across your back and before you know it, you’re cumming. So hard that all you see is black, a scream leaving your lips.

Jisung pauses inside of you as you begin to shake from the intensity of your orgasm. What you don’t expect, is for him to start moving again. You squeal, pulling yourself further onto the counter, and away from him.

He quickly wraps a hand around your dress and pulls you back into him, burying his length back into you, making tears spring to your eyes.

“Stop. Fucking. Running.” Each word is punctuated by a deliberate and hard thrust into your pulsing cunt. His hand wraps around the front of your throat and pulls you up, pressing your back against his chest before choked sobs begin to leave your mouth at the overstimulation.

“Shhh, baby. I know. I know,” his words are comforting in your ear but his thrusts are still brutal. He uses this opportunity to bury his face in your neck and shoulder again, sucking marks and bruises into every inch of skin that he can reach, marking his territory.

“Should I cum in you? Should I fill you up? Have my cum dripping down your legs then send you to see Hyunjin? I bet you would like that wouldn’t you?” he grunts into your ear, his earlier jealousy and anger returning as he approaches his own orgasm.

“J-Ji, I-I’m gonna c-cum again,” you stutter out and he maintains the same pace. The build up to your second orgasm came quickly since he never actually stopped fuck you but for a second.

“Nobody is stopping you baby,” Is his only response before your second orgasm comes crashing down over you. You usually never cum without some clit stimulation but for some reason, you just did. Your moan gets stuck in your throat as you cum again, your knees buckling in.

“Fuck, princess. You’re sucking me in so good. I’m gonna cum in this sweet cunt. Put a baby in you so everyone knows you belong to me. Fuck. I’ll get Hyunjin in here to eat my cum out of your pussy since he wants you so bad,” his words are like static in your ears as he continues to thrust into you before he stills, emptying himself into your waiting cunt.

“You’re mine. Nobody else’s. You belong to me. Only me,” he’s rambling into your ear before he slowly stops and gently lays your chest back down on the counter, laying his body across your back.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“You okay?” His voice is soft. You finally start coming back to your senses as his finger tips rub up and down your sides.

“Yes. Are you okay?” You turn your head to face him and he sits up, his gaze meeting yours.

“I love you,” is all he replies before his hands rub down your side and against your hip bones, sore from hitting the counter’s edge over and over.

“I love you so much, Jisung,” You lock eyes with him before he leans forward and presses his lips to your’s.

i wrote this just for u pookie<3

[mshalfemptygirl]

Cupid (S.R)

Plot: Our favorite Doutor confess feels to his best friend also co-worker, Y/N.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Contents: Really quicky mention to drinks, cases, makeout but fluffy for sure.

A/N: hello readers, I disappeared for a year because of work and college and a serious health problem but I'm better than ever and coming back to writing has brought me back to life. I hope you like her because she's cute, a couple from a romance movie basically, so like and share if you like it.

"Alright, Spence. What are your thoughts on the woman over there in the dark green dress? She looks elegant, charming, and quite attractive. She might even share an interest in the books you enjoy, don’t you think? What’s your take?" I gestured toward the woman who had just taken a seat at the bar, alone. I was on a mission to play matchmaker for Spencer. Although he hadn’t asked for my help, I thought it would be useful to offer a female perspective. Spencer’s inherent shyness meant he needed substantial guidance in social situations, especially when it came to women.

The ambiance was pleasant. We were seated at a table near the main entrance. Given that it was Thursday, the bar was relatively quiet, but it was the only day we both had free to unwind after a grueling series of cases in New York. Honestly, I’m not sure what’s been happening this past month, but I’ve reviewed so much material that when I close my eyes, I still see the words on the pages. And Spence? The poor guy has never analyzed so many maps in his life. I thought this break was well-deserved, and he certainly deserved a chance to spend time with someone special. Well, both of us could use a moment with someone, but I’m on a cupid’s mission and need to stay focused—no distractions, no more than three drinks.

"She’s attractive, but I’m not fond of blondes, and she seems a bit too tall for my taste. I don’t think it would work out," he replied. I frowned and looked at him with disbelief. This was the fifth woman he had dismissed that evening, and his options were rapidly dwindling. I downed my beer in one gulp and stared him down, hoping to make him realize it was now or never. "Spence, you don’t need to be so selective. I understand it’s challenging for you, but you’re only looking for someone to kiss. I’d love to kiss that girl! She’s stunning. Just approach her, buy her a drink, and then kiss her. Go on, now," I urged impatiently. He needed to make the first move.

"I understand, Y/N. She’s attractive, but I don’t want to kiss her, that’s all," he said, turning back to the bar and taking a sip of his whiskey. I knew him well enough to sense he was hiding something. This was a significant step for him, and despite our discussions about taking a break, he seemed reluctant to pursue it. Ugh, he could be so stubborn.

"I know there’s more to it, love. Are you feeling overwhelmed? Am I being too pushy, is that it? I’m sorry if I’m a bad cupid. I’ll stop. Look, I’m waving the white flag—peace," I said, grabbing a napkin and waving it theatrically. I flashed a grin, and he chuckled. It was always like this: he was the serious one, and I was the humorous one. He loved books, and I adored movies. He was the little angel, and I was the little devil. "Very amusing, but I swear, I have nothing to hide from you," he assured me.

"Spencer..." I gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. He looked uncomfortable, but he started to speak anyway, with a hint of resignation in his voice. "Well, there’s this girl I’ve developed feelings for... she’s incredibly nice and fun. When she talks to me, I can’t think of anything else. I’m not sure how to articulate my feelings, but I don’t want to kiss anyone else. She’s everything to me now." I was overjoyed and exhilarated. I’d never seen Spence so in love before, and now he had someone special in his life. Of course, I felt a twinge of jealousy, but I was also genuinely happy for him. This was a delightful surprise.

"Spencer Walter Reid!! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?! Did you—" I exclaimed, relieved that the bar was mostly empty. His face flushed red as he tried to cover my mouth with his hand. "Y/N, please don’t shout!!! I didn’t know sooner, I didn’t realize it until now..." he explained. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my excitement. "Alright... you need to go talk to her right now and give her a proper kiss! I’ll handle things here. Just go for it!"

He looked at me wide-eyed, his hands on my shoulders. "You really think so? Are you sure?" I snorted. "Absolutely, go now." And that’s when he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he was about to do. His fingers gently gripped the back of my neck, his touch both tender and urgent. He leaned in, and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin before our lips finally met. I was stunned, my body tensed, and my eyes remained open for a moment, but his lips were so soft that I quickly surrendered to the kiss. Our lips moved together in sync, and I felt a profound connection. He wasn’t as shy as I’d thought—he had a way with words and was incredibly sweet. I couldn’t explain it, but he was perfect. Suddenly, I found myself bewitched by the very arrow of Cupid I had sent forth.

As we broke away from the kiss, I gazed at him, utterly bewildered, my heart racing with every beat. "Spence, what was that? You just..." I asked, my voice trembling with genuine confusion. He looked at me with an expression that blended sincerity and vulnerability before responding in a tone that was soft yet deeply meaningful: "Well, the truth is, the woman I’ve been admiring all along is you. I’m sorry if this comes as a shock, but you asked me to act, so I did."

I was momentarily stunned, a whirlwind of emotions overtaking me. How could I have been so blind not to notice this sooner? I opened my mouth for the first time in minutes to speak my heart. "Spence, there's no need to apologize. I'm just... surprised! That was really something," I said, still trying to wrap my head around the moment. I paused, letting it all sink in. "So, does this count as our first date, or would you rather have a more traditional one?" I asked with an amused tone, trying to ease the tension that had built between us, feeling a bit uncertain about what came next.

"Oh, I definitely want another date. How about I take you out for dinner, and you wear that dark blue dress you had on at Rossi’s? I love the way it looks on you," he said, his words making a warm sensation spread through me. "You’re so sweet, Spence. I hadn’t really noticed it before. If I’d known you kissed like that..." I replied with a laugh, hugging him tightly. "And you can bet I’ll wear the dress if it makes you happy." With a gentle caress on my face, I brushed his bangs off his forehead, feeling a bit strange about kissing one of my best friends, but I was glad he had the courage to confess something so significant.

I looked at his face again and could see him a bit embarrassed by the events of the night that had unfolded in a public place. It wasn’t something he had planned, and he likes to plan things. "Y/N, may I kiss you a little longer?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for permission. Instead of answering, I pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss, savoring the moment.

Talk to me

Spencer Reid Masterlist

A/N: let me know if you want me to tag you

[wonbriiize]

pairing; park wonbin x reader, genre; best friends to lovers, warnings; none

note; i finished watching ‘one day’ (netflix show) a few days ago and decided to write this inspired by it,, it’s quite long but i hope u guys like it !!

unspoken feelings

in which you want wonbins help to prepare yourself for your first date but things take a different turn…

⊹₊˚✩ ₊˚⊹

“𝓪𝓻𝓮 you sure this looks good?” you swirl around in the dark blue dress that you’ve just put on.

after waiting for a few minutes and not getting an answer, you see that your best friend wonbin isn’t paying much attention to you — he’s laying on your bed and looking at his phone.

“wonbin, help me out here and stop looking at your phone!” your voice sounds so desperate that it makes you mad. you absolutely hate sounding like that.

wonbin sits up and throws his phone next to him.

“yeah, the dress is pretty good.”

“only good? oh god, no, it needs to look perfect.”

full with panic, you start walking to your wardrobe to look for another dress.

“why do you care so much anyway?” wonbin asks, trying to hide the jealousy he has been feeling the whole time since you’ve told him that you’re going on a date with someone.

“because it’s my first date ever and i want it to be good and it’s only going to be good when i also look good!!”

wonbin watches you look through your clothes, throwing them to the ground and desperately trying to find a new dress. he bites his lips, asking himself if you’ve ever been this stressed about looking good when the two of you were out together.

“how come you never dress up when we go out?”

you laugh at his question, not understanding why he’d ask this. “well, we don’t go on dates. we go out as friends.”

friends.

that word slaps wonbin right back into reality. he gulps, tearing his eyes away from you.

��yeah but you could still try to match my coolness with your outfits.”

“oh shut up,” you laugh, grabbing after the white dress that’s been sitting at the bottom of your wardrobe.

“what do you think about this one?” turning around, you hold your dress up so wonbin can see it, but you catch him looking to the other side of the room, not acknowledging what you’ve just said.

“uhm, hello, earth to wonbin, you here?”

he snaps his head back to you but it still looks like he’s not really here, with you. his mind seems to be somewhere else.

you wave the white dress in an attempt to attract his attention. “so? how about this one?”

slowly, he nods. “yeah, this is the one.”

proudly, you smile and stand up. wonbin is still staring at you, hating the fact that he can’t even be happy for you. he absolutely detests that he’s here, helping you out for your first date and the date isn’t even with him.

maybe he's not a good best friend for thinking this way, but who can blame him? he‘s been in love with you for so many years. seeing someone else taking you out on a date, making you smile this much, and filling you with such excitement and eagerness to dress up — it hurts him deeply.

it’s my own fault, wonbin thinks. he should have gathered up the strength to confess to you way before, but now it’s too late.

he’s about to lose you to someone else.

wonbin grabs his chest, feeling like it’s hurting so much that he can barely breathe.

“wonbin, can you do me a favor and unzip me please? i can’t reach it,” you ask him.

“hurry, i need to be ready in an hour and i still need to do my hair and make up!” you whine, wanting wonbin to stop being so slow.

wonbin stands up, his heart beating very fast as he approaches you. he hopes that you don’t realize how heavily he’s breathing.

once he stands behind you, he gulps, realizing how close to you he is. his hands carefully make their way up to your hair, moving it to the side.

you can feel wonbin's breath in your neck. being this close to him gives you goosebumps, and you pray he doesn't notice.

he can't possibly know the effect he has on you. whenever he's near, your heart races, and every moment feels so alive, so fulfilling, so utterly consumed by love.

wonbin has been your best friend for so many years and you don’t want to lose that.

confessing to him would put the two of you in a tough spot because what if he doesn’t like you in that way? how could you two ever recover from that? it would change everything.

you don’t want to lose him.

you agreed to go on a date with someone else just to stop thinking about wonbin, but he's always on your mind. every moment feels like a battle against these unspoken feelings for him. you thought the date might help you move on, but it's only making you feel like you're betraying him.

but there’s no going back now; you need to do this. it’s for the best.

noticing that wonbin still hasn’t unzipped the dress, you ask if he can hurry up.

wonbin doesn't respond. it’s like his throat is closing up, choked by the knowledge of you going out with someone else. he thought he could handle it, but the reality hits him like a tidal wave, devouring him in a whirlpool of agony and longing.

“no, i don’t want to hurry,” he whispers. he doesn’t understand why he’s so brave all of sudden, but he’s not going to back away now.

“what?” you’re confused.

“i actually lied,” wonbin whispers in your ear. “you look absolutely perfect in this dress.”

it feels like you’re having a hard time hearing because of how fast your heart is starting to beat.

wonbin touches your shoulders, slowly turning you around to him.

“i just didn’t want you to wear this to your date.”

as you stand face to face with wonbin, you‘re struck by the realization that you‘ve never been this close to him before.

it’s a moment you've yearned for endlessly.

“why?” you whisper, your gaze flickering down to his lips and then back to his eyes.

“because..” wonbin murmurs, his hands leaving your shoulders to caress your waist, pulling you closer. the proximity makes your head spin.

is this surreal moment truly happening?

“i want to be the sole reason you wear this dress,” he confesses, his right hand delicately tracing your lower lip.

your knees tremble, threatened by the imminent collapse under the weight of overwhelming desire.

“and i also want to be the only one who takes you out on dates, who brings that radiant smile to your lips, and who..." he pauses momentarily, his gaze lingering on your mouth.

“..gets to kiss you, if you allow me to, of course.”

your heart is pounding with anticipation. the realization that this long-awaited moment is finally arriving feels surreal, yet undeniably thrilling.

without a word, you rise onto your tiptoes and meet his lips in a fervent embrace.

wonbin is taken aback at first, but starts kissing back enthusiastically when he realizes that you've been meaning to do this just as much as he has.

in that moment, everything around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

it feels like time is standing still as you are drawn together, your connection becoming the only thing that matters.

amidst the quiet, your love shines brighter than anything else, filling the space around you with warmth and intensity.