#WHO ARE YOU ANON AND HOW YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hope you can do this-

WE TOTALLY NEED t141 with a wife reader doing that one TikTok trend about standing naked in front of them, like they could be watching a rugby game and reader comes into the room with nothing but a towel on, drops the towel, completely flashes them and then leaves 😂

(you can do gender neutral if you don't want to do a female reader 💕)

HA! OKAY! I know this trend! I've seen videos of it before. Love, love, love this idea, anon. I could have gone real smutty, but I controlled myself (shocking, I know) and only went a bit cheeky (lol) with it. I hope you have a good laugh or smile while reading. Enjoy!!

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, non-descriptive nudity, suggestive themes, dirty thoughts, shenanigans, swearing, implied sexual content

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

The documents are sprawled out across the dining room table. John has been pouring over them for hours, considering every bit of information, determining importance.

In his peripheral, you float about, a moving shadow that appears and disappears as you roam the house. John would like to spend time with you, to bask in your presence, but it’s not to be. This is far too important to merely set aside.

For a time, you disappear, then your shadow emerges again. John expects you to continue on, but you linger, and it draws his attention up and away from the documents.

You stand before him in nothing but a fluffy white towel. Your skin, that of what he can see, is slightly wet as if you’ve just emerged from the shower.

“Love?” he prompts.

You don’t speak. You simply drop the towel.

All thoughts of the upcoming mission leave John’s head. In its place is your nakedness and the rushing of blood to his dick as it hardens.

As words form on his tongue, you abruptly turn, giving him a full view of your bare ass.

Fuck it, John thinks as he pushes back his chair.

The mission can fucking wait.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s tongue sticks out from between his teeth. It’s just a sliver of pink—a hint of the concentration brewing in his gaze.

“Come on,” he mutters, clicking the buttons on the controller. “Come on.”

He’s off. Away from work. Enjoying the comforts of home.

You appear from the right, directly between the television and the couch. Johnny notices but says nothing. When you don’t move away, he glances over. You’re in nothing but a fluffy, white towel.

“Coming to join me, love?” he asks with a wink.

As a reply, you smirk, and then drop the towel you’re wearing. It pools at your feet.

Johnny’s gaze completely shifts in your direction. He stares…and stares, the video game forgotten. You’re completely naked, looking goddamn delicious. All the blood in his brain promptly rushes to between his legs, building an aching need that grows by the second.

And you’re…walking away? No. You should be sitting in his lap right now. You should be on his dick.

“Oi!” he shouts, standing abruptly, the controller clattering to the floor.

You glance over your shoulder, and Johnny melts under that look. Desire hangs heavy, and Johnny decides right then that the game can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle leans against the kitchen counter, his gaze distant as Price chatters away in his ear. They’ve been on the phone for five minutes—a new record for Price who thinks cellphones are evil incarnate—and the man won’t shut up.

“No,” says Kyle, keeping his tone neutral. “I hear you. It’s a fucking mess that one.”

You appear from around the corner in nothing but a towel. Kyle smirks in your general direction, extending one arm toward you with the intent to draw you close to him. But you do not approach. You remain completely out of reach.

Frowning, Kyle pushes off from the counter. The words begin to form on his lips and then promptly disappear when you abruptly drop the towel.

His mouth hangs open, breath stolen, with gaze fixated on all that nakedness.

Price is still talking—still jabbering.

Kyle hears none of it. Price’s voice becomes a low buzz as all of Kyle’s attention goes from his head to his dick.

“Captain,” he manages to gasp out as you dart away down the hall. “Captain. I have to go.”

Kyle doesn’t wait for Price’s affirmative. He ends the call, legs already moving to follow you.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon lifts the hammer, intent on striking the nail to push it further into the wall.

Just as he brings his arm down, a shadow appears in his peripheral. Within him is a tug—an insistent urge to look and seek out the source of the movement.

And Simon does.

Shifting his head just enough for the shadow to become solid, Simon’s gaze falls upon the one person he loves most in this world. It’s only seconds that pass, but his brain registers everything about your figure in an instant. It’s your exposed skin, then the towel wrapped around your body, to you opening it up to reveal the nakedness underneath, only for you to drop the towel where it pools on the floor.

The hammer comes crashing down, but Simon doesn’t notice that the trajectory has shifted. Not until it falls, and misses the nail, coming down on his hand.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he growls, staring down at his now throbbing thumb.

Simon glances up, ready to tell you off, but you’re already walking away, bare ass on full display.

You naught thing. Distracting him on purpose.

Simon sets down the hammer, following, intent on teaching you a lesson.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@fern-reads @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @glassgulls @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @z-wantstowrite @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @glassgulls @greeniegreengreen

[captain-huggy-bear]

Perfect Fit

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You fit perfectly into Quinn's family, knowing how much they love you just makes Quinn realise that you're it for him.

Notes: Requested by an anon, I hope you like it. I went with a kind of snapshot of events vibe for this one

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's never had a girlfriend who fit in quite so well into his family because you were quite literally a perfect fit. Every single member of his family loved you. His mom, his dad, his brothers, his grandma, all his cousins. There wasn't a single person who didn't ask where you were when you couldn't come to a family event or who didn't write you a Christmas card or a birthday card. You were in every family group chat, on everyone's list of Christmas presents to buy.

You'd integrated so well into his family that he couldn't really imagine a life without you because suddenly there'd be a missing puzzle piece in the family puzzle, a glaring gap. The sort of hole that would be so noticeable, so obvious.

It's extra obvious whenever he goes to a family event without you, like tonight. You're held up with a big work project, leaving Quinn to go to the big family get together on his own. He knew everyone would be upset about it, there was only so often that all the family were in the local area and you not being there would be obvious to them.

His grandma has already found herself a comfortable armchair when he arrives for the party, cousins, aunts and uncles milling about. His brothers talking to his parents by the snacks, Luke stuffing his face between sentences because he seemed to have hollow legs these days.

"Hey, Grandma'"

"Hey, sweetie," He kisses his grandma on the cheek letting her pull him in tight for a hug, but it's clear her attention isn't on him, her eyes looking over his shoulder, searching.

"You alright, Grandma?" He's a little put out to be honest. His grandma, who he hasn't seen in months, barely looking at him, eyes scanning the room.

"Where's Y/N?"

"Oh, she couldn't make it, she's got a big project goin' on at work and has to stay late for the next week or so." There's part of him that preens at her question because his grandma loves you, something he can't help but love. He loves it for himself, but he also loves it for you knowing you didn't have the best relationship with your own grandparents, knowing that his grandma had healed something in you that no one could see.

"Oh, but I wanted to see her so badly, Quinn! I was going to give her my recipe, the one she asked for to make those snickerdoodles she liked so much." She looks genuinely sad and Quinn briefly considers face timing you to show you because you'd probably cave and drop your work project for his grandma and then he'd have you here. God, he misses you...

"Well, I can give it to her, grandma."

"No! I want to give it to her, what if you lose it?" He can't help the offended scoff he lets out or the way his jaw drops open in shock. His grandma not trusting him more than you hurt a little, even as he loved that she adored you so much. He was perfectly capable of not losing a stupid snickerdoodle recipe...

His mood is no less grumpy when Jack and Luke sling their arms over his shoulders, laughing at him and the way his grandma is holding her recipe to her chest as if he might snatch it from her.

Jack is the worst, "Oh he'd definitely lose it, grams!"

Quinn glares at him, "I'll make sure she comes to the next one, grandma, yeah?" He tries his best to not take his annoyance with Jack out on his grandma, trying to focus on that fuzzy little feeling in his chest at how much she seems to love you. He's never had a girlfriend his grandma really cared much about beyond the occasional question, but you? God, she's not happy to just see him anymore, if he doesn't bring you along she's always visibly disappointed.

"Mmm, it'll have to do! Tell her I love her will you?"

"Course, grandma..." He grunts out, rolling his eyes as Jack and Luke laugh and start dragging him away. As he goes he can't help but mutter under his breath, "More than you love me clearly"

"Jack Rowden Hughes!" Your hands are on your hips glaring at Jack outside the Lake House, a smoking microwave between the two of you where Luke and Quinn had tossed it after hearing your panicked calls for help. The microwave in question had been briefly on fire, not something Quinn really thought he'd be dealing with today.

"Oh god, he's done it now..." Quinn can't help but grin, leaning against the side of the house as he watches you, Luke stood next to him looks more concerned and less amused.

"Should we save him?"

"Nah, I wanna watch this." Quinn's grin widens at the way Jack seems to shrink under your glare like a naughty kid. You've definitely got the mom voice down. It's like watching a younger Jack whenever their mom had to tell him off for something stupid or reckless.

"You just want to watch your girlfriend rip into him because you think it's hot."

"And can you blame me?" He can't even deny it. Quinn thinks you're beautiful all the time, but there's something especially thrilling about watching you rip into his little brother about nearly setting the Lake House on fire.

There's a pause from Luke where he looks at Quinn unsure, words coming out slow and cautious, unsure, "I feel like that's a trick question."

"You would be correct, don't even think about suggesting my girlfriend is hot." Quinn glares a Luke even though the truth is he's playing about. He knows you're beautiful and he also knows both his brothers consider you to be a sister figure, he knows he doesn't need to worry. But, it's funny to give Luke a hard time sometimes.

"So, should I say she's ugly?"

"She's gorgeous but you don't need to think that. Strictly platonic thoughts only, Lukey."

"Quinn?" He looks over with a raised eyebrow, "I love you, but you're insane." They're both pulled from their conversation by the sound your voice again, loud and clear and very much scolding.

You've still got your hands on your hips, a glare has developed on your features and Jack looks even more like his teenage self if possible. His hair is a mess, hands having run through it repeatedly, tugging on the strands.

"What on earth possessed you to think putting tin foil in a microwave was a good idea?! It's metal, Jack! You nearly blew up the microwave!" You feel like you're back at university, dealing with barely legal individuals who can't figure out that cooking a whole chicken in a microwave is simply not going to work. Jack Hughes has managed to give you a headache. His sheepish grin manages to soften some of your edges, but you're still baffled and confused by Jack's sheer lack of common sense.

"How was I supposed to know that that wasn't something you should do?!"

"It's common sense, Jack! Did you not pass science?" You know he did, well aware that Jack was not in fact an idiot. But, Jesus Christ on a bike...tin foil in the microwave? The microwave?! The smell of burning plastic and metal is still assaulting your nose, the adrenaline from thinking the house was about to burn down still running through you.

"...I hate you." Jack's pout breaks you a little, a huff of a laugh leaving you as your shoulders relax somewhat because in reality the whole situation is funny, now that the Lake House isn't about to burn down.

"No you don't."

Jack sighs loudly, stepping around the microwave to pull you into a side hug, "No...I don't...I'm sorry for nearly blowing up the microwave."

"It's okay, I love you even if you're an idiot." You grin up at your boyfriend's brother, who looks at you aghast, jaw dropped at your audacity.

"Hey!"

Quinn can't help but smile, the way you just fit in with his baby brothers, how Jack enjoys your company and how easy you find it to mess with him. You fit in like a puzzle piece.

Summers at the Lake House might be your favourite, the warm wood of the deck beneath your feet, the sun on your skin, a little chubby toddler running towards you at full pelt while you laugh, Quinn watching on from the side lines because he can't help but adore how you act with his baby cousins. You're made for it, made for his family, but made for interacting with little kids too, so gentle with them, but fun too. They love you so much that he can't help but practically develop heart eyes.

"Up! Up!" Quinn's baby cousin, Chase, is at your feet, arms in the air making grabby motions with his hands. His floppy sun hat is a little too large for him and covers his eyes in an adorable fashion, but at least it protects him a little from the summer sun at the Lake House.

"Up? You want to be up here?" You gesture with you arms as you grin down at the little toddler, his chubby cheeks red from running towards you, his skin covered in sun cream.

"Up!" His hands continue to make grabbing motions at you, hands clenching into fists and unclenching in quick succession. He grins at you wide, his gap filled smile endearing.

"What's the magic word?" You're smiling wide at his cousin, even as you remind him of his manners and there's just something so...so affable, so natural about the whole thing.

"Up, pwease!" His little toddler lisp more pronounced on the word, drawing it out until you're laughing, reaching down to grab him under the arms and lift him up into your own.

He squirms a little at first before settling himself comfortably against you, head leaning on your shoulder, smiling up at you like you've hung the moon in the sky. You hold Chase so naturally that Quinn can't really help but think about what it might be like one day when the toddler in your arms is your own. A little toddler with his nose, your eyes and some combination of you both that just seems to work. How you'd carry them around the Lake House, helping them toast marshmallows over the firepit and teaching them eventually how to swim.

"She's good with the kids..." It's his mom who comes up behind him, smiling wide, blue eyes practically glowing as she puts her arm through his.

"I know..." He can't take his eyes off you, you've started to tickle chase, the toddler squirming in your arms as he laughs loudly, big grin on his little face as his favourite person gives him undivided attention. You're practically glowing, wide smile on your face, your own laugh resonating through the air. His chest tightens with affection, an ache for something he hasn't got quite yet, a yearning in his chest.

"Makes you think, huh?" His mom is smirking at him and he knows he's being obvious, knows she can tell how in love he is, how desperate he is to make you a permanent fixture in his life...to make the image in front of him slightly different, a toddler that looks like a combination of the two of you in your arms rather than his baby cousin.

There's a beat of silence where Quinn watches you, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of love, and his mom watches him, the way he can't seem to hide how deeply he loves you. It's how she knows you're it for him before he even says a word, it helps that Ellen can't help but love you. She's always been welcoming to Quinn's past girlfriends, but she's never quite loved one as much as she loves you. You're good for Quinn, that's the real crux of why she loves you so much...because you give Quinn something to love that's not hockey, you give him another purpose while getting him to shut off, to rest. Of all her sons Quinn is the most dedicated, and with that dedication comes the weight of the world on his shoulders. It's like you walked in one day, and stepped underneath the globe with him to make holding the weight a little easier.

"I think she's it, Mom...I think that's my wife right there..."

"Yeah? I'd hope so because I'll ground you for life if you let her go."

"I'm 25 years old, Mom." He can't help but laugh at his mother, eyes rolling as she grins at him, laugh lines deepening around her mouth and besides her eyes. He's missed this during the season, the unrestricted family time, the back and forth with his mom that makes everything feel simple, even the concept of a proposal, of marriage.

"I can still ground you, I'm your mother." Ellen pokes him in the ribs, Quinn twisting away with a huff.

"Well, good thing I'm not planning on letting her go anywhere anytime soon." He pats his jacket pocket, the shape of a box just visible enough to cause his mom to gasp and he knows, fuck, he knows it's the right choice.

He loves you, adores you, can't imagine a life without you and his mom? She's so excited, so happy, not just because it's Quinn, but because it's you. He'd love you even if his family didn't, but there's something about how much they do love you that makes this perfect, makes this feel so utterly right.

Now he just needs to find the right moment, the right time to finally make you a permanent part of the family.

[yandere-sins]

You trying to run away from Caleb and him using his gravity manipulation Evol 😍😍

Omg, and it's not even just when you run away... You have such a good point, anon ♥

❥ Imagine finally outsmarting him and getting a chance to run. Caleb could simply put you down with a sweep of his hands, but instead, he makes your surroundings work against you. The gravel beneath your feet rolls back towards him, making you trip over yourself as you can't get away from the spot. Leaves and branches fall down on you/hitting you in the face and obscuring your sight, so you stumble, lose your direction, and run right back into his arms. He has them open for you, always. But his grip is iron-tight now that you showed him your desire to get away. Caleb can't have you try that again, you understand that, right?

❥ But, of course, after your second attempt, even he gets frustrated with you. It's child's play to slam you onto the ground, even if it hurts you. You didn't want to listen, so maybe the cuts and bruises will teach you. But you aren't the only one who learns because Caleb quickly realizes how devilishly fun it is to see you struggle. He just needs to soften his evol for a moment, so you think you can get up and run again before he breaks your spirits by applying the pressure of gravity again, bringing you down and dragging you towards him slowly. Your pain doesn't even concern him, not when he still sees you willing to fight him. You, never giving up, is like a drug that goes straight to his brain. He'll let you fight against the pull, lets you think you have a fair fighting chance as he taunts you with deliberate, slow steps in your direction, his shoes clicking menacingly on the floor. You're so cute—feisty and hopeful as you still are, and Caleb experiences the most sadistic pleasure to see your will bend and break, snap right into pieces as he grabs you by the neck and licks your bloody, swollen lips. He's like a kid licking his pancakes to keep his siblings from eating them, but the notion is the same: You're his.

❥ Caleb also uses it to disarm you in case you ever get your hands on something you really shouldn't. It's fun to see you struggle while you try to keep the weapon and yourself from being dragged towards him. And it almost drives him crazy to hear your surprised gasp when you accidentally let go of the object, and it almost does get close to hurting him. A second ago, you were all big and threatening, and suddenly, you feel bad for him, it's amusing. Next thing you know, you are on his lap, getting playfully chided for trying to get rid of him, and how you need to do better than that since you didn't even come close. If the weapon is reachable, you almost have a chance of getting to it again and trying to hurt him. Still, it's all just a game for him, and he might let himself get cut just so he can punish you properly while trying to deny how happy he is about playing with you.

❥ However, he draws the line at you trying to hurt yourself. See, it's all fun and game until your life is on the line. You are pulled into his arms with the weapon immediately slapped, ripped, or, if he has to, broken from your hand. The only one allowed to hurt you is Caleb, and he makes no laughing matter out of your attempt to blackmail him with your life. You don't know how much harm you can do to yourself while his actions are always calculated. Even when it seems like his slamming you to the floor is cruel, unless you give him a real reason (like hurting yourself), he won't actually mess you up. Caleb will even help you stabilize your wounds after he seriously hurt you, trying to disarm you, but it's all just to show you not to mess with him. Show you that his evol can do way more than throw you around and hurt your ego and will to fight. You don't get to argue with him on your security, not even for a second. Caleb simply won't entertain these kinds of threats, and it will make it harder for you to get close to dangerous items in the future. Also, he will be pouting and ignoring you for a while, you really hurt him with your actions. Maybe try apologizing. Please! :(

❥ Despite everything, Caleb does a few nice things with his evol. You might be forced to watch movies and cuddle with him, but he'll draw the blanket you like so much closer or fetch you your drink if it's out of reach. You won't have to leave the comfort he provides (albeit unwillingly). He also saved you from things falling on you by pulling them and (much preferred) you out of the way and into his hold. Sometimes, he catches food before it lands on your newly worn shirt. Yeah, he's that kind of nice (even though he likes to laugh at how upset you are when it does happen). The more you are on his good side, the more he'll do nice things for you, and his evol will be an exclusive power for you to use. He likes to tease you endlessly, and his psychotic behavior worries you sometimes, but you will learn that Caleb would do anything to keep you by his side, preferably happy and in love with him. Even if it means he'll become the weapon you can use to set the world on flames if only you play your cards right.

[goatgoesmbe]

So about that post of Simons gf that's super kind. what if she's petty with her kindness. one time me and my mom got in fight and that same day she complained about how many house plants she had. so i bought her a miniature rose bush (roses being a hard plant to take care of) as make up gift. I've also made other people their coffee wrong, bought unbalanced pens, gave there cats cat nip, given their children obnoxiously loud toys, etc.

Tw : reader is morally questionable, mention of assault

OOOH ANON, I LOVE THISS-

Like- just because reader is sweet, that doesn't mean being a pushover. You have class, and your own way of handling assholes properly.

I imagine Simon would think he needed to be the one who protects you, seeing you're all sunshine and rainbow, always so nice and kind- and he just didn't want anyone to take advantage of you, you know?

But then he realized that you're actually not a damsel in distress.

The first time he saw it, was at a neighbor's baby shower..

"You've been with him for what? 3 years now- and still no ring?" 

Simon glanced at you,simply smiling  in response. He recognized that voice, Stella was her name. Or something along those lines. She was one of those people who always wanted attention, bragging about every little thing while also dragging people down just so she could feel better about herself.

Simon had to hold back from rolling his eyes when she previously arrived. Wearing matching designer clothes with her five-year-old son, Aiden. Which was a waste of money in his opinion, the little fella will grow out of them in a short time after all.

"I mean.. come on, you're not getting any younger.. better make it official soon before you expire - he might no longer  be attracted to you by  then" Before you could respond to the previous jab, Stella continued talking. You could see why she would ask something like that, it was just how she was like after all. 

You and Simon have reasons, but it was really none of her business. And you couldn't exactly explain to her that your boyfriend is legally dead so you couldn't marry him properly.

Simon wasn't even listening to the other lads around him anymore- not that he did in the first place. Looking at you directly from his spot, he observed the others who interacted with you. You were surrounded by the other moms from the neighborhood, yet none of them said anything against Stella.

He saw you giggle, brushing off Stella's words way too casually like it didn't affect you, or maybe you didn't get that she was mocking you- Simon wasn't sure.

"It's time to go, luv" His gruff voice stopped their conversation as he approached you. He could feel their eyes on him, some of them not hiding the fact that they found him attractive from how they looked up at him with a slight flush on their cheeks. He wondered how you were comfortable being around them at all, he could never exchange more than a few words with them without feeling  like he needed to commit  murder.

Well.. whatever, you won't be meeting them again anytine soon, since the both of you  were planning to move away.

You looked up at him with those big innocent eyes and pouted "But-". 

"It's late" he added, putting his hand on your hip and pulling you close to make a statement at the others who still shamelessly gawked at him.

Seeing that look in his eyes- the one that means he accepted no rejection, you sighed. "Alright, let me say my goodbye" You said before turning back to them.

Simon simply grunted and waited. And when he thought you were ready to go, he raised an eyebrow when you instead walked over to the kids who were busy playing. You told them about you moving out of  the neighborhood and the kids didn't seem to like that, you were their favorite after all.

"I have something for you guys to remember me by.." You chirped. Immediately, the kids looked at you with eagerness as you rummaged through your tote bag.

The side of his lips lifted under his mask when he saw you pulling out mini harmonicas. Before you could say anything more, a brat snatched one out of your hands. That was Aiden, Stella's spoiled boy. Which means it would be hard for the mom to get the noisy thing from him.

A cute little giggle escaped your lips as you watched the boy immediately blow on the harmonica messily, spraying spit everywhere.

After you made sure every kid got one, you stood up and held his hand before skipping away with him in tow. Cacophony of moms' frustrated yelling, children's laughs, and loud harmonicas left behind.

So you had planned your revenge all along, huh? Seems like you're not a total angel like he’d thought you were.

...

The second time was  when he visited you at work. While he provided  enough for you to stay home and do nothing, you still insisted on running  your own cafe. Saying that it had been your dream since you were little. And how can he say no when you look at him with those puppy eyes?

And while you do have people working for you, you still help around from time to time. "It's the best part about having a cafe," you said to him that one time.

He was sitting at a table close enough to observe you working in that cute little uniform you had designed yourself for the cafe, when a guy walked in. His appearance screamed 'douche', the kind of guy who would talk about how many body counts is too many for a woman in a podcast.

Despite that, you greeted him cheerfully like you do with every other costumer. Even when he told you to write 'daddy' on the cup after you asked for a name, a disgusting smirk on his lips.

Meaning you would need to yell out that word to call for him when the order was ready.

And while Simon was fuming inside, you were calm. Humming along with the music playing from the speaker as you prepared the coffee. 

But, instead of calling for the guy yourself, you turn to one of your employees. His name was Shane, written on the name tag clipped to his uniform. He was a big guy, not any taller than your boyfriend but still. A simple man who will be pleased spending the night scarfing down pizzas and beers. Now, Shane was known for many things, one of them being very gay, and being  totally not shy about it.

You smiled before turning away to take the next order, all while  secretly paying attention to what was going to happen next.

"Daddy..!" Shane shamelessly sing-sung the word loudly and even when Simon expected it already, he still choked on his tea. He also saw you biting down your lip to prevent yourself from laughing.

Shane went on for a while until the whole cafe fell silent except for the music playing that didn't fit the situation at all, which made it evenmore hilarious. 

'Daddy' finally walked over to get his order. Red in the face and looking very pissed. He was not stupid enough to cause a scene, however, and simply accepted his cup without so much as a thank you. And of course, Shane added the cherry on top by throwing a flirty wink.

And when you noticed the way he glanced at you after taking a sip of his coffee, tasting regular milk instead of almond- knowing full well he told you earlier about his lactose intolerance. You simply gave him that sweet smile of yours, a cheerful "Thank you, please come back again..!" Thrown his way like how it always is whenever a customer is leaving.

Simon chuckled under his breath and shook his head. Feeling proud (and scared, that was borderline crime) of his pretty bird being cruel in her own ways.

So when he saw you sighing after an argument on the phone with your mom, he didn't question it when you went ahead and bought a make up gift for her.

[maskedbyghost]

When Angels Fall

Hello, my lovely people! Ready for some soul-crushing angst? No? Too bad—send your tears via mail. Love you! Also, all blame should be directed to the anon who requested this. Okay, thanks, bye!

Simon never believed in angels.

The world was too cruel, too ugly for something as pure as that. Wings were clipped, halos were tarnished, and heaven felt like a myth told to children who hadn't yet seen the things he had. He knew better than to believe in fairytales.

And then he met you.

You were 141’s guardian in the sky, an airman with a reputation that preceded you. Your callsign was Halo. It fit, he supposed, given how you watched over them, weaving through the air with a precision that impessed him since the very beginning he met you.

Your voice, crackled through his comms during every mission, would guide them out of hell and back home. You kept them safe, and God, if you weren’t the calmest person he’d ever known.

But it wasn’t just the security you brought that got under his skin. It was you—your voice, your laugh, the way you could turn a routine check-in into something that made him feel less like a ghost and more like a man.

“Wheels up in ten, boys,” you’d say, and Simon would find himself smiling under his mask, comforted by just the sound of you.

He didn’t know how it happened—how you managed to slip past the walls he had spent years building. Maybe it was the way you read him like an open book, saw through his hard exterior, or how you never once pushed him for more than he could give. Maybe it was because you still spoke to him like he was worth saving despite all the blood on his hands.

He didn’t know how, but he fell. Hard.

And the most terrifying part? You caught him.

It started small. You’d read off mission briefings in that smooth, calm voice of yours, and he’d listen like it was scripture. Then, you’d tease him about his accent and call him ‘big guy’ over the radio just to hear his exasperated huff. He didn’t even mind—not really. He’d never admit it, but he liked it. He liked you.

And at some point, it wasn’t enough to hear you only on missions.

One night, after a brutal mission, he found himself restless, the heavy burden of the battlefield clinging to him. He didn’t think—just grabbed his radio and switched to your private frequency.

“You up?” His voice was rough, and you immediately knew that he wasn’t okay.

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle could be heard coming from your side. “Simon Riley, calling me just to talk? I must be dreaming.”

He should’ve played it off and made some excuse about mission reports or logistics, but instead, he said, “Can’t sleep.”

A moment of silence passed, and then you said, “Want me to read to you?”

He frowned. “What, like a bedtime story?”

“Exactly like a bedtime story.”

He should’ve said no. Should’ve shut off his radio and suffered through another sleepless night like he always did. But he didn’t.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, alright.”

And so you did. Some book you had lying around, something about stars and the vast, endless sky. He barely remembered the words—just the sound of your voice, soft and lulling—until sleep finally took him.

After that, it became a habit. Whenever the weight of the world became too much, he’d reach for his radio, and you’d be there, voice soft in his ear, pulling him back from the darkness in a way nothing else could.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

But, he should’ve known happiness like this wouldn’t last.

The mission was supposed to be routine. Get in, retrieve intel, and get out. Simple. Clean.

It wasn’t.

Everything went to hell fast. Some kind of ambush, a miscalculation on their part, and the enemy waiting for them like they knew they were coming. The ground team was pinned and cut off from their extraction point, and Ghost could hear the tension in your voice as you called for support.

“Hang tight, I’m coming in,” you promised, your aircraft screaming through the sky.

He had no doubt you would. You always did.

You swooped in, raining fire from above, giving them enough cover to push forward. For a moment, it worked. For a moment, he thought they might actually make it.

Then the missile hit.

The explosion was deafening—a violent burst of flame and metal as your aircraft took a direct hit. Ghost felt it like a punch to the gut, his heart lurching into his throat as your voice crackled through his comms.

“Mayday, mayday! I’m hit—controls are—fuck—”

The world slowed.

He could hear Gaz yelling, could see Soap moving, but all he could focus on was your voice, filled with panic and your breathing ragged as you tried—tried so hard—to stabilize.

“Ghost—”

And he knew. He fucking knew.

“Eject,” he ordered, his voice steady despite his whole body shaking from the shock. “Now.”

“I—”

A choked sound. Static.

And then—

Silence.

They found the wreckage hours later.

What was left of it actually.

The ground was scorched, metal twisted and blackened, and the smell of burning fuel filled the air around them. There was no body, just fragments of what had once been your aircraft, pieces of you scattered like shattered glass.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. Just stared at the wreckage, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.

Price placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured something meant to comfort. He barely heard it.

All he could hear was your last transmission, looping in his mind like a broken record. Your voice—his anchor, his safe place—reduced to a desperate cry for help he couldn’t answer.

That night, for the first time in years, he reached for his radio and switched to your private frequency.

Static.

He closed his eyes, gripping the radio so tightly it trembled in his hands. He waited, hoping—praying—that somehow, against all logic, you’d answer.

But you didn’t.

You never would again.

And Simon never believed in angels.

Not until he lost one.

-------------------------------------------

gonna go hide now.

@daydreamerwoah

[monstersflashlight]

Can you write a longer story on Minotaur Cowboy 🤠

I love the other ask, and your writing is amazing 👏

A/N: First part for those of you who don’t know what anon is talking about is here. (If that link doesn’t work try free suscription on Patreon and this link). This is very filthy, same as last time, and it’s a very niche kink, but good damn it if I didn’t enjoy writing this. Enjoy!

Hucow (part 2)

Minotaur x fem!human || hucow fantasy, voyeurism, exhibitionism, edging

Your minotaur farmer thought he was very smart and he loved you the most, but what he didn’t really knew was that you’d been playing him all along. You enjoyed his attention much more than he thought.

Since the first day you saw him, you wanted him. You wanted him desperately, and when he asked to milk you, you were more than eager to agree. He used his hands on your nipples, gently massaging them at first but rapidly milking you like the cow you were, his body covering your back as his hands squeezed every drop out of you. You could feel his dick against your covered pussy, and you rolled your hips, asking for more, wanting more… But he didn’t do anything that day. You had to walk back home with a dripping pussy and an eager clit that day.

The next day was more of the same, and the next one, and the next one after that… He hired more hucows and more minotaur cowboys, but you were always out of their rotation, nobody could touch you but him. And it drove you wild. You could only watch as others got milked and teased as you leaked, unable to touch your own breasts, and unable to find release.

The first time you saw one of the other minotaurs fucking the hucows, you pinned. They soon realized that was the way to make them more productive, more eager to be milked… So you became bolder, more eager, and he was helpless to resist your sweet scent and tight pussy. When later that day he appeared to milk you, you begged and begged until he was balls deep inside of you, releasing so much come you were dripping around his dick. He humped your pussy like an overeager minotaur as you moaned and groaned, asking for more.

Most times he enjoyed watching you across the farm, fucking some of the others but never looking away from your plump body. He fucked them, milked them… But always found his way to you.

You observed him while he walked around the farm, testing and probing the other hucows there. He thought he was so important and so big, but you saw past his exterior, seeing him as what he was: a bull ready to fuck every one of them until they were crying out. You knew you should be mad, you should be angry that he fucked them first, that he milked them first… but you didn’t care about that, it excited you. You liked how he walked one by one, choosing the pussy he was going to fuck until he was ready to burst, making them come until they were dripping down their legs and their breasts were leaking into the buckets under them, his dexterous hands milking them until they were dry and spent. It was all part of the fun, it was all part of the edging he was playing with you.

Until he got tired of playing with the others, and positioned yourself right into his office. You were like one more piece of furniture, your body displayed there, ready to be fucked and milked by him every time he wanted… or every time you begged loud enough. He loved that, he loved to fuck you senseless and have you bent down so he could stare into your dripping pussy as you milked yourself in front of him, getting hornier by the second just so he could slip right back inside and fill you with load after load. A never-ending circle that left both of you satisfied.

And that’s how you became his personal hucow, ready to be fucked, ready to be milked, displayed on his office for everyone to stare… but not touch.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Stop appropriating Welsh culture, you filthy shit skinned semite. You will never be one of us.

Jesus who put 50p in the dickhead

I normally just delete anon hate without reading but this one is absolutely baffling, like

How... did you get the idea I'm Jewish, exactly?!?? I regret to say I have zero Jewish ancestry and am also not religious like. What.

You know, this... this feels fake, right? Like not the antisemitism, god knows that turns up everywhere, but "Lurid racist comment making a claim about True Nationality (that I totes belong to I prommy) while on anon so nothing can be confirmed"... I mean, I've seen enough sock puppeting in my time. But I can't work out why??? What could possibly be the motive

I am racking my brains here anon, what on earth have I reblogged recently?? That rattled your cage so badly??? What the fuck.

I am baffled by this one.

Hefyd... Mae'n ddiddorol dy fod ti'n neud yr honiad "Fyddi di byth yn un ohonom" - trio neud dy hun Canolwr Popeth Cymraeg - yn Saesneg. Mae hwnna'n ddiddorol, ynte? Mae'n ddiddorol.

[messenger-of-babel]

Hello, I was hoping you take requests. If you do, can I please request one with Nightwing where the reader is his best friend and she gets kidnapped by the Joker and is badly hurt and how he deals with it? Thank you very much!

I Told You So

Summary: Dick remembers the risks of befriending civilians when you disappear one day.

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: Dear anon, I hope that you still hang around my blog, and I'm so sorry this took so long to get to you after angstober. I had so many other ways to take the themes, but I opted for a more subtle approach. I hope it is close to what you were looking for. 💙

I'm working through my requests! I love getting these in my inbox so for everyone that has sent one, please know that I LOVE seeing these prompts and I plan to do all of them. Warnings for graphic descriptions of injuries and violence and a slightly shaky fic. Getting back into the swing of things! (Also want to say I went back through my blog and re-read every comment and reblog tags that people have left and I love that people love my work so much.)

Reblogging will summon Nightwing to be your Valentines this year! 💙💙💙

Love RiRi <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Dick had told himself not to be friends with civilians way back when he had started being a vigilante. It had been a quiet sentence that he had uttered to himself in the depths of his mind, and one that was overshadowed by his personality at every moment from then. It was almost like a defunct rule that just sat there for the sake of playing on his conscious.

 By nature, he was too outgoing, too eager to involve himself in the community and connect with the people that he fought for. He wanted to help the kids at the orphanage when he made trips with Bruce, he wanted to talk to those gathered around food trucks getting cheap meals because their apartments had been destroyed in last week’s bad clash with Scarecrow. He wanted that connection, which let him keep Dick Grayson away from the suit. The suit that called to him like a siren. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up just like Bruce, a shattered reflection unable to distinguish who was looking back at him at the end of the day. Another martyr who had sacrificed his soul and let the kevlar devour him wholly.

So, when he hung out with you, he was Dick. You reminded him that he was Dick Grayson, and the pressure that sat in his chest always eased. You had met when he took Haley in for her shots, a dimly lit vet clinic with underpaid staff and underfunded equipment.

"Sorry about that." you chuckle, head dipping down to nod at your own dog, who was pulling at the lead to get to Haley. Dick waved it off, laughing as he relaxed the lead in his hand. Haley ran circles around your golden labrador, tail wagging in excitement. Your hands brushed and fumbled with each other as you tried to awkwardly untangle the leads, pulling your dog’s apart when you could.

"Don't worry, Haley gets excited too." he smiles, crouching down to pet your own pup. He stares at Dick with black glossy eyes, tail waving back and forth as he tries to lick Dick's face, making him laugh. "What's the name?"

"Darty." you smile back, your companion turning his head back to look at you as he hears his name. "He's a good boy." you coo, rubbing his head. Dick scratches behind his ears before Haley gets jealous, nipping at the sleeves of his navy jacket with a whine.

"Ah, ah, gentle. I love you too." he laughs, a hand on each dog to keep them happy.

From then on you two had bonded over walks int he dog park and afternoon coffee while your canine friends played tug of war in front of your bench. It was hard to find people he considered friends, much less his best one. He was best friends with Wally still, and he was the person Dick went to when he was having troubles in his vigilante life. When he couldn’t take the stress of watching Bruce have another episode, something that was beginning to frequent more and more. He went to Wally when he needed favours called in, and he was stuck in bed with bruising so bad he looked like he’d picked a fight with a semi-truck (although Bane really felt like that at times).  But with you, he could talk about things that annoyed him. He could complain about little things, like how the coffee shop on the corner near his apartment didn't taste the same now that they changed management, or the fact that the rain had brought even more potholes to the Gotham streets, making driving a nightmare. Sometimes Dick fell so deep into those conversations with you, wrapped up in the way that you laughed or nodded along, that some days he thought he himself was an ordinary civilian.

But there were times like these that the little sentence came back from the corner of his mind that he pushed it into.

Where it came taunting him in that sing song voice, saying 'I told you so'.

Where he was reminded why he had tried to make the rule against befriending citizens.

He had noticed when you didn't make the puppy play date on Thursday like usual, Haley sitting sadly like her owner as they both waited for their friends. He had sent a quick text, 'Are you ok??' but wrote it off that there was just a good chance that you were sick, considering the flu that had swept your workplace the week before.

So, the civilian in Dick gave it the benefit of the doubt.

The next day you still hadn't responded, despite Dick knowing that you didn't work the Fridays. He rolled over, checking his phone with blurry eyes to see no new messages on his notification centre. He had had a rough patrol the night before and his muscles ached from misjudging a rooftop and landing harshly, so he let himself sleep in. You would surely respond later when you had time, and if you really were sick then he knew you wouldn't be awake till past noon.

So, the civilian in Dick rolled back over and caught up on sleep from the night shift.

However, when Saturday hit, he got the notice from Bruce that he was needed. Dick had spent the day in increased worry, knocking at your door around lunchtime only to receive no answer. The road was bumpy as he drove the bike back to the manor, wheels hitting potholes too wide to avoid properly. His frown deepened when he finally made it back to the manor, spotting Jason's bike out the front too. He dismounted, shaking the light rain from his hair. The dusk was being quickly swallowed by Gotham's signature rain clouds, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried inside, greeting Alfred on his way down to the cave.

The sentence popped up in the forefront of his mind as he took sight of everyone in the cave.

 Bruce turned from the Bat computer, already in suit and cowl. Stephanie sat to his left; hip propped up against a table. Tim was suited up, still focused on the strings of numbers and texts flashing across the bat computer screen.

"Glad to see you could make it." Jason says gruffly, brushing past him. He was still in his riding gear, hair tousled from the helmet. Dick nods back, a flash of understanding passing through the two brothers.

"What's the situation?" he asks, coming to stand behind Tim's chair, next to Bruce.

"Mass kidnapping." Bruce says, eyes hard and trained on the computer screen.

"Culprit?"

"Joker." Jason fills in, voice distant as he changes on the other side of the room.

"It's pretty bad. Batman and I were investigating a disappearance, but it turns out there was a whole string prior. and now…" he says, tapping the space bar and the screen fills with faces.

"Now we've got twenty gone." Steph fills in, glancing sadly at the screen. "He's been playing a game, and we're losing."

Red crosses begin to flicker across some of the portraits floating in front of him, making him cringe. There were students, professors, and blue-collar workers. Some who seemed to work in an office, some who clearly worked outside. He scanned each face with an X, feeling the pain behind the implications. That's when he froze, and that's when that sentence came back stronger than ever.

I told you so.

He felt a slight tremor in his hand before he clenched it into a fist. His mouth was dry, guilt coursing through him. Maybe it was a rage, maybe it was a sadness. Dick honestly didn’t know how to untangle his emotions in this moment. He just knew that one of those faces up there was you, thankfully free from an X but there, nonetheless.

And the vigilante in Dick died a little inside.

"It’s not his MO." he says tensely. "Doesn't he want the attention of the Batman? It's not like him to do things in the background without announcing himself." he has to croak out, making Tim give him a curious side glance. His younger brother was always smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for.

"I think he's learnt how to self-entertain." Jason hums, appearing at his side with a sour expression. "He's gearing up for something big. Something to lord over the Bat."

"And we aren't going to let that happen." Bruce spoke up, voice stern. "Everyone here is to locate missing civilians while Red Robin and I track down Joker. We need to clear the field of potential casualties. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, but no one understood as painfully as Dick.

When the group broke up to get started, he called you again. It hurt twice as much knowing that the reason you weren't picking up is because that sick bastard had you somewhere. Because he had gotten too comfortable as a civilian that he failed you as a vigilante. If he hadn't given the benefit of the doubt, maybe you'd be here and safe. Maybe if he hadn't rolled over and gone back to sleep, he could have used that time trying to find you instead. If he had done his job, then none of this would have happened.

And maybe that would have been worth being consumed by the suit.

When he does find your signal, his heart nearly leaps from his chest. Everyone else had already entered the field, scouring buildings and known hideouts to just find anyone from the GPD missing persons list. Not Dick. Dick needed to get you back specifically. If there was any benefit to having a vigilante as a best friend, is that he would tear the city apart trying to find you. The downsides being that because of him you were lost in the first place. He sent the location to his phone and races from the manor, adrenaline making his head spin. He takes a car, not trusting himself to slow down on the corners enough to take the bike.

The GPS takes him to a building by the docks, normally active during the day but abandoned in the night. He parks a half block away as to not draw attention and slings his escrima sticks on his back, tugging them once to make sure that they were secure. He scales the shipping containers nearby and slinks out of sight of the security cameras, each muscle in his body primed to flex and twist on command. He balances on a high beam inside the main warehouse, pulling up his wrist where the red flashing dot of your phone blinked at him. He would probably have to buy you a new phone, considering the backdoor program he ran through your signal to track it made it virtually unusable.

He scanned the area, hairs on the back of his neck tingling at the lack of goons or suspiciously scarred individuals. With light feet he padded across the roofs of rusted shipping containers, feet as swift as his parents had taught and in the shadows like he had been trained. When he stood atop the rusted blue container in the left wing of the warehouse, his blue dot overlapped with the red.

He spun down, still glancing over his shoulder in case he was walking into a trap. The lock was newly purchased, indicating that you were indeed here. It popped open easily enough with the lock picks in his sleeve, the make and model a standard in many hardware stores. This could be easy, he could grab you, get you out of here and back into the apartment on the corner of fifth where you belonged-

it was you.

That's what he had to tell himself when the container door creaked open, and his flashlight sent a beam into the dark pit. He had seen bodies in the past, dead or dismembered or otherwise. Yet that didn't compare to the way that his stomach turned to stone in his abdomen just seeing you unconscious. HisHIHis feet thudded loudly as he raced towards you, gloved hands sliding down your bound arms to press against your wrist, his breathing as shallow as your pulse. He takes a deep breath and calms himself, cutting you from the chair you were tied to so he could cradle you in his arms and get a better look.

"I've got one at the docks, Wareson's shipping containers in Lower Gotham. They’re unconscious but alive." He speaks into his wrist, marking his channel as 'open' once more. It crackled to life soon after, Bruce's voice filtered through his earpiece.

"We've got a trace on a few others. Check for a calling card, Spoiler and Red Hood have found other hostages with codes attached, we might be able to get ahead of this." spoke the Bat, and Dick lowered you down gently to take a look.

His hands ghosted across your skin gently, so he didn't disturb any injuries, flashlight gripped in his teeth as he skimmed your clothes. Pulling a small square of cardboard from your blouse, he flipped the playing card over to reveal a bloodied joker and a string of numbers printed underneath.

"Sending an image now." He relayed, using his watch to take a photo and send it back to the cave. He shut his comm line off after that, his head reeling too much to focus in on the chatter from the rest of the team.

An injury to the right side of your head, against your temple. blunt force, left a cut on your hairline.

Your hair was normally a shade lighter than what it was right now.

Bruising around the throat, dark smears and indents in your skin. Evidence of friction marks.

Your necklaces never hurt you that way.

As he looked at you, your breath shallow, he felt that stone in his stomach grow hot. The way your eyelids were sealed shut with red crust, hair plastered to your head with the viscous liquid. Swelling around the lips that curved at him to smile or tell a joke. An arm that was folded the wrong way, the same arm that would tug his arm to hurry him up or reach out to his during sad parts in movies.

Right now, the vigilante Nightwing had failed you, but the one wearing the pain was the bent over form of civilian Dick Grayson.

His eyes tingled and burned, chest heaving before he knew it with scattered sobs. He calmed them down soon enough, the Bruce that lived in the back of his voice yelling at him to get it together, all while chanting over that same old sentence in tandem. 'I told you so. I told you so. I told you so.' The sadness didn't last long however, quickly being replaced with an anger that flushed the skin of his neck bright red. He lifted you up in his arms, beginning the slow walk back to the car so he didn't irritate your injuries. His steps echoed out in the silent warehouse, competing with the racing sound of his heartbeat. As he walked, he was so focused on counting the unsteady breaths you took that he didn’t notice the suit melding to his skin, consuming him with invisible teeth until the civilian part of Dick dissolved completely.

'I told you so.'

'I told you so.'

'I told you so.'

Dick wasn't made to be a civilian, despite how he wore their clothes and played the part of a happy townsperson. He concluded that you were bright enough to live the life of a civilian for both of you, revelling in the little moments of peace that his nighttime job had fought to preserve.

Dick was made to be a vigilante, Bruce turning his rage and anger at the world into a weapon, a tool to shape Gotham and carve out the parts that threatened the lives of innocent people.

Dick was about to show them just how well he had learned to wield that weapon.

[dinkerr]

thinking about loser vi with a mean reader. oh my god i am about to BUST (rec from anon, nsfw under cut)

loser vi who is absolutely unbelievably broke (maybe from the ridiculous amount of money she's spent on funko pops, sims 4 game passes, the expensive ass eye shadow pallets she has (and will also buy for her baby sis) because she will absolutely never leave the house without a smoky eye, her belt collection (that you'd tie her hands with WHAT WHO SAID THAT), the vintage comic books she likes to collect (basically just anything interesting to her WILL lead to bad financial decisions. especially you.)

loser vi who's love language is physical touch with a little bit of gift giving and words of affirmation. will buy you anything just because she wants to (but not flowers, she'd make a bouquet herself by picking flowers she sees on her walks). just out of pure love. she thinks with her heart (cannon), she appreciates you and loves you and she wants you know that.

you two go thrifting together. you see a mini skirt or a flannel you like. you go up to her and ask for it (the same way she asks you to buy some fuckass spiderman boxers from target), and she cannot say no. you're her collar.

loser vi who likes tea. black tea. and colouring those colouring in books with markers and art pencils she borrowed from pow. and shed a good cook. makes lethal spaghetti.

loser vi who thinks you're so alluring. your style. the way you think at different times during the day. the music you like. the way you respond to people during arguments. how many blankets and pillows you like to sleep with. the way you get ready for the day. the piercings and tats you already have, and the ones you want to get. the way you wake up. your interests (bonus points if you have the same ones as her).

loser vi who would try to tease you herself throughout the day by wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, her hips pushing up against your ass a little more than it normally would with a normal hug, being all confident and saying something like "you're gonna be a good girl for me later, right?"

and you are so incredibly unbothered. and she absolutely loses her shit when you do this to her first chance you get, biting down on her bottom lip and giving you those needy puppy eyes when you rut your foot in between her thighs.

loser vi who loves 69, especially when she's ontop with her ass in the air for you to grope and slap, moaning with her tongue pressed flat against your cunt when you do.

loser vi who is naked, face down ass up later that day without you doing anything to her and you're still fully clothed sitting next to her. she's begging for you to touch her when she hides her pink dusted cheeks in her hands and pillows, her pussy so wet that she's sure she can feel it smeared on her thighs.

loser vi who would bark like she wants it. pls tell me someone gets this.

loser vi who, when it gets to a certain point of teasing from you would start crying, hands cupping her face and wiping away her tears with your thumbs and leaning your head down a little bit to kiss her. you won't slow with your thrusts, of course you won't, because she's just so cute when you're fucking her with your strap and you won't let her cum, the whimpers and moans she lets out being one of your favourite things ever.

loser vi who will beg to eat you out. mentioned this in a past post, she likes hiding her whole head under your skirt when she eats you out (this is for more of a fem reader sorry), she just finds it so sexy when you finally let her after you make her wait for so long, licking at your pussy like it's her favourite sport. it is.

loser vi who gets so frustrated when you ride her in reverse cowgirl, the harness of the strap brushing against her clit in a way that makes her uselessly whine in protest. she knows she can't touch you in any way, knows she can't slap your ass or grab your waist and hips or thrust her hips up to meet you or whatever the fuck because she knows she'll get introuble by you. not that she already isn't.

loser vi who likes taking you to the 7/11 that's 5 minutes away from her (parents) house after sex (or whenever, really), lowk melting into your touch when you kiss her in the middle of buying slushies and rainbow sour strips♡!!

sorry this isn't a fic i couldn't find it in me to write one. i fear she has risen my standards to beyond heaven. this is so ass. loser vi who is such a loser. that's it. there's nothing else to put.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hear me out:

Romantic evening with our boys. Making pizza, watching a romantic movie, just cuddling all evening long.

Jonny, all the ever horny guy, starts and it ends with smut. Lots of smut but reader started her period without knowing. They're shocked and first but when reader starts crying, they quick to comfort her.

(I need comfort too. And I'm literally this close 🤏 to rip my uterus out my body)

Thank you for the ask, anon! I had to dig deep for this one because while I enjoy reading the spicy I don't usually write the spicy. I hope this is what you were looking for.

cw: bad accents, vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, menstruation, rainbow kisses (iykyk)

Ever since you started dating the 141, Friday nights were date nights for you and whomever of your boys were home. Whichever soldier isn't out on a mission gets to pick the event, and if more than one of the boys is around, they each plan something for the group. Their thought was they are so often gone they want to woo you right when they're here.

But the Fridays you love best are when all of your boys are home because that's when you get to plan the date. Tonight happens to be one of those Fridays.

The boys are on base while you make preparations for tonight. You planned to finally use the pizza oven on John's grill. You spend the morning making dough, setting aside double portions for your soldiers and their appetites.

As the day wears on, you head to Sainsbury's for the rest of your ingredients. You get the supplies to make red sauce from scratch and a small jar of pesto for Kyle who sometimes likes to experiment. You know if he doesn't use it tonight, you'll simply make pesto pasta another time. A fresh block of soft mozzarella lands in the trolley. You know Johnny will enjoy happily shreds it for you when he gets home. A jar of olives, some green peppers, and a red onion from produce all go in next. Then you're off to find rashers, gammon, bangers, and pepperoni. You know at least one pizza will end up being more meat than anything else.

When you get back to the car park, you don't bother putting the bags in the boot. You lean over and drop them onto the floor of the passenger side as you slide behind the wheel. A quick stop at the florist for a small bouquet, and you're home again.

The house is tidy, but you freshen things up anyway. You need something to keep you busy as you wait for your men to come home. You set out some Yorkshire pudding and kilted soldiers as a pre-dinner snack, but not too much. You're cognizant of how quickly Johnny will stuff his face with whatever's nearby and not save room for supper. You pull down the large popcorn tubs and set aside the oil and kernels to make popcorn after dinner. You slide Love, Rosie into the Blu-Ray player and cue up the main title.

You have just enough time before your men come home to get yourself cleaned up. You'd showered in the morning, so you focus on fixing your hair and makeup. A pink and blue floral skater dress has been hanging the back of your wardrobe for weeks, and tonight's the perfect night to throw it on and show it off. As you're screwing the cap back into your lip gloss, you hear Simon's voice call out for you.

Light feet and a joyful heart carry you down the hall to the foyer. You step into Simon's open arms, cleaving yourself tightly to him. He's only just back from a mission that lasted almost a month. You kiss him softly, and he pulls away far too soon for your liking. If it were anyone else, you'd be embarrassed by the whine that escapes when he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. Instead, he looks at you and says, "Missed you, luv."

You move from man to man greeting each in turn. From John, who's been back and forth between Hereford and bases in places he can't tell you about, to Johnny, who was on the first part of Simon's mission but came home when Simon was sent elsewhere, to Kyle, who's been behind a desk for the last few weeks as he recovers from nearly falling out of the helicopter. Each gets a hug and a kiss and a whispered welcome home.

You're sure when Kyle is better, Laswell will send them all out somewhere. As it is, you've heard John fielding her calls late in the evening when he tries to hide it from you. For now, you plan to simply savor having your men home.

"Go on, wash up," you chide, shooting them from the foyer to the cloakroom. "Meet me in the kitchen when you're done."

It only takes a few quick strides until you're in the room in question, making sure that all the toppings are ready, that the sauce is cool enough to use, and that each dough ball has its own pizza pan. Each of the men join you in the kitchen mere moments later.

You don't miss the gleam in Johnny's eye as he looks at the flour. He cuts a glance at Kyle, and you clear your throat, crossing your arms as menacingly as you can. "We will not be intentionally making a mess of my kitchen," you state, looking between Johnny and Kyle. "Are we clear sergeants?"

Shock flits across Johnny's face and he looks back at Kyle who simply shrugs. The two men glance at John who, like you, has crossed his arms in front of him and is ready to glare them into submission. "I'm waiting, boys," you remind them.

Kyle responds quickly. "No mess. We heard you'd, doll." To which John adds, "Aye, ma'am. Keeping the kitchen spick and span."

"Excellent," you say. Then you pass out aprons and tell your men, "I'd rather not scrub flower out of anyone's clothes, either, so put these on." There's a chorus of "Yes, ma'am." You can tell at a glance the only one happy about the apron is John, who's got his usual 'License to Kill Grill' apron on. However, the others don't fight you, and soon everyone's ready to make their meal.

You show them all how to turn the dough balls into flat crust and head out into the garden to turn the grill on. The pizza oven is set up according to the directions, and you want to ensure it's ready to go once all the pizzas are prepared.

When you come back into the kitchen, all four men have at least one crust ready, and Simon and Kyle are working on their seconds. You quickly put Johnny to work shredding the cheese into a large bowl and show everyone where the sauces are. Much to your delight, Kyle smiles widely at the jar of pesto on the counter. The cheese is ready once everyone has sauce on their dough, so everyone grabs a heaping handful. You point out where the other toppings are and let the boys design their dinners as you take your pizza out to the oven.

Each man brings you their pan when it's ready and they stand around chatting with you while the food cooks. You pull the first round of pizzas out and send John in to put everything out on plates and slice them. You put Kyle's and Simon's and Johnny's second pizzas in, then head into the kitchen to eat.

You slide into the open seat next to Simon and join the pleasant chatter. John pulls three tumblers and the bottle of Scotch Mrs. MacTavish sent at the holidays out of the cupboard. He pours two fingers for himself, Simon, and Johnny. Kyle pulls the top off a bottle of Carlsbad lager, pulling a long draught before setting it in front of him. Johnny places a glass of rose at your place.

Between bites of pizza, you fill the boys in on the gossip from work and hear some edited stories of Simon and Johnny's ops and John's base visits. Kyle chimes in with complaints about base staff.

You pop out to the grill for the second round of pizzas, bringing everyone but John their food. You and John both opted for one pizza and are both enjoying the meal and the company.

When everyone is full, Simon and Kyle pack up the unused toppings, John clears the table, and Johnny puts the large cast iron skillet on the hob. You stay in the kitchen with Johnny while the others head into the den. He pours a generous helping of oil in the pan and tosses the kernels on when it warms. It doesn't take long for the kernels to pop, and despite knowing what will happen, it still startles you.

Johnny chuckles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Ah got ye," he says, nuzzling your neck. He reaches over, snags a kernel and holds it out. When you lean forward to take it from him, he pulls it back. "Uh-huh," he teased. "Close your eyes."

You obey, but instead of the warm, salty, buttery crunch of popcorn, Johnny's tongue invades your mouth. He swallows your moans, whispering, "Could a laid yerself on the table an' we would'a feasted, lass." He pulls away, an obscene sucking accompanying the motion. Your heart jackhammers in your chest. You're about to suggest skipping the movie when several voices call from the other room.

"Let's... let's, er, go join the others," you pant, quickly dumping the popcorn into tubs to carry in.

By the time you and Johnny make it to the den, Kyle and John are sprawled together on the sofa, and Simon's taking up the recliner. You and Johnny head to the loveseat, and he pulls you down into his lap.

Before the open credits finish, Johnny's nuzzling your neck and whispering more filth in your ear. "Ah cannae wait to fuck ye tonight, hen." "Gonna split ye open on mah cock 'til ye scream." "Yer cunt is the sweetest dessert. When can Ah have a taste?" The longer the film goes on, the wetter you get until you're squirming on Johnny's lap, hoping you aren't obvious to the others.

The heavy weight of Johnny's hand slips from your waist to your hips, and eventually, under your skirt. His fingers slip under the gusset of your panties and you gasp. "Shh," he coos. "Dinnae want to interrupt the film."

He slides one finger along your slit, teasing you before breaching your core. You groan low, and Johnny rumbles, "Yer so wet," into the skin beneath your ear. "Watch the movie, lass. Ye picked it special."

With one long finger in your pussy, Johnny's thumb presses hard on your clit, and you see stars. "Would rather," you pant, "focus on," another panted breath, "those talented fingers."

Johnny lightly bites down on your neck and shoves another finger into your pussy. You clamp down at the unexpected intrusion, and Johnny's thumb ruba little circles on your clit. Between the sucking on your neck, the fingers in your cunt, and the pressure on your clit, you climax quickly, biting your lip to keep from letting the rest of the room know what happened.

But when you glance at your other lovers, they're staring avariciously at you and where Johnny's hand disappears under your dress. Johnny shifts behind you, clearly turning to see the others. "Who wan's a taste?"

Kyle's off the sofa in a shot, kneeling on the floor next to Johnny. Johnny pulls his hand out from under your dress to press his slick-coated fingers into Kyle's waiting mouth. You glance down to watch and notice Johnny's fingers are covered in blood. You suck in a breath and grab his wrist. It hits you immediately what's happened.

"Johnny! Stop!" You look down and see Kyle's gaze land on the blood. He leans back and nearly falls down.

"Doll, wha'..." John and Simon are watching intently, and you want the ground to open under you.

You take a deep breath and cover your face with your hands. You can't bring yourself to look at any of them. "I think I got my period early." You spring off Johnny's lap and hurry down to your bedroom, trying not to cry. In your room, you strip out of your dress and see a small red spot on the seat of the skirt.

Before you can spiral into embarrassment, there's a knock behind you. You're standing stark naked, but there's no heat in his gaze when John looks at you. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, but the tears are welling up. "Aww, shh," John says. "'c'mere." He comes over to you and wraps his arms around your bare middle. "Dove, we're soldiers. We're not scared of a little blood." You don't think he realizes he's gently swaying you as he talks. It's soothing.

"But that's different, John," you whine. "This blood, this is dirty."

"Hush," he snaps. "Nothin' 'bout ya is dirty." He tucks your head under his chin and kisses your hair. "Ya think this makes us wan' ya any less?" He pulls back and taps your chin until you meet his solid blues. "Say the word an' all a' them'd be linin' up to fuck ya." He moans a little. "Can only imagine how good it would feel, yer cunt coated in somethin' even hotter than regular slick. Ya should hear Johnny out their praisin' yer pussy."

You feel heat rush up your neck and into your cheeks. "You really," you take a deep breath, "you don't think it's gross?"

The answer doesn't come from above you but from behind. "Nothin' you do is gross, luv," you hear Simon say. Now you know he's there, he isn't quiet about crossing the room. His large, calloused hands dwarf your hips when he pulls you tight against him. "I'd let ya ride my face for the pleasure of gettin' ya off, blood an' piss an' all."

It should disgust you, but you swoon a bit instead. You turn in his hands. "I can't believe you're okay with this."

"What's there not to be okay with?" Kyle's voice asks from the doorway. You look over Simon's shoulder and see him leaning against the jamb with smudge of blood on his lip.

"Kyle, what happened?" You know you sound panicked, but you can't reign it in. "You have..." You motion to your own mouth.

Kyle ducks his head and rubs his hand over the shorn back of his hair. "I, er, maybe still sucked your slick off Johnny's fingers." He catches your eye. "Any taste of you is worth it."

You're shocked at his admission. Before you can say anything, you hear Johnny's voice in the hallway. "Ye cannae start without me!" He barrels into the room and you notice a sheet of red on his lips.

"What?"

He flushes and admits, "Ah kissed Gaz ta see how ye tasted, since Ah couldnae taste from the source."

You're dumbfounded. Nothing in their demeanor tracks with what you've been told. When you were thirteen, Mum said your period was "a necessary evil." In school, the teachers spoke of biology and creating a space for new live, and while it wasn't disgusting, it wasn't appealing either. All your previous partners found other things to do with other friends when you had your period. But looking around at the faces of your lovers, all you can see is love and desire. There is no disgust, no revulsion, no recoiling.

"Dove?" John's voice breaks you from your reverie. He stands beside you and Simon still again, but now he'd discarded his shirt. The top button of his trousers is undone, and you could see his cloth-covered erection straining the zipper. You understand immediately what he's asking, and you dip your head once.

Arms scoop you up and deposit you in the bed. You're surprised by the scratchy feeling beneath you. You run your hand over it and realize it's a bath towel. A bark of laughter escapes you. "You boys pivoted quick, huh?"

John leans over you, growling in your ear. "We wan' ta enjoy ya. And even more, we wan' ya ta enjoy yerself." His hands ghost up and down your sides, the touch featherlight. "I'm gunna kiss ya now, dove."

"Okay," you reply breathlessly. John's kiss is possessive, tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim you as one beefy hand strokes over your curves. His lips start against yours and slowly drift to your neck, your collarbone, your sternum, your stomach, and finally right above your bush. He looks up and meets your gaze, holding it as he dips further down to like a stripe up your slit.

When he pulls back, you see the bright burst of red on the top of his tongue. Then he plants his face in your cunt, tonguing your hole and sucking on your clit. You start thrashing only to feel the bed dip at your hip. Simon and his big hands are back, one heavy on your hip to keep your bucking down, the other running softly along John's head as he slurps obscenely at your sopping, bloody pussy.

John's pursuit of your pleasure is relentless. There is no edging tonight, no long drawn-out teasing. He is a Captain through and through, and tonight's mission is your orgasm. Before long your muscles clench, and the tension in your core snaps. You're twitching on the bed, breathing slowly to bring your heart rate down, when you look down to see John's beard covered in a milky red mixture of blood and cum.

He rubs a hand down his beard, collecting some of the mixture, then holds his hand to Simon. With his eyes holding yours, Simon leans over and licks the mess on John's hand before Johnny shoves him back to get another, more potent taste of you.

You're so distracted by Simon and Johnny fighting over the remains of your taste on John's skin, John has moved nearer to your hip, and Kyle's slotted himself into the space between your thighs. His long, lithe fingers smooth themselves across your thighs, hips, and stomach. "Can I?" he whispers.

Despite the other men sitting at your hip, you respond with a whispered, "Yes."

Kyle pushes himself to the hilt in one fell swoop. He doesn't hold back how he feels. "Fuck, doll, didn't know you could feel better," he grinds out. He waits a moment for you to adjust until he, like John, chases your pleasure. Each of Kyle's thrust is a long slow retreat before slamming home. He has one hand resting on your mons, thumb just lightly over your overstimulated clit. Every time his hips slam home, Kyle puts a lot more pressure against your clit. Soon he loses his rhythm, thrusts becoming erratic, fingers pulsing against your clit. You climax as he does, and when he pulls out you aren't sure if the liquid that follows us blood or cum, and if the latter, whose.

He flops beside you and throws an arm over his face as you disassociate. You hear Johnny whine and Kyle chuckle, and when you look over, Johnny's on his knees, Kyle's cock in his mouth. There's a lurid ring of red at Kyle's base that Johnny's spit makes messier.

Your eyes slip closed, and you feel the bed continue moving under you. Glancing on your other side you see Simon on his knees, John slamming into him. You catch Simon's eye and shift on the bed to kiss him. John pauses his movements enough to keep Simon from accidentally collapsing on you. After a moment, John grunts. You know he can't keep holding back, so you slide away from Simon to let John continue. Several thrusts later and John's sweaty form is draped against Simon's back.

You hear Kyle's choked moan and know he's close. Johnny has one arm perpendicular to Kyle's hips, pinning him in place while his other is below the edge of the bed. You're sure he's stripping his cock to match his mouth's movements on Kyle. When Kyle cums, Johnny swallows everything down, only a drop beading on his lip. He sees you looking, and instead of licking it away, he leans over to let you lick it off. When you sweep your tongue into his mouth, searching out the taste of him under the flood of Kyle, Johnny slips his cock into your warm, wet cunt. He thrusts half a dozen times before cumming, shouting your name. He's careful not to drop his weight on you, instead falling into the space next to you and tucking you against his larger frame.

You know you need to clean yourself up, especially if you don't want too much blood on the towels or sheets, but you're too blissed out to worry.

Date nights with all your boys are the ones you like best.

[suiana]

hi hi hii!! I saw your requests are open so may I pleade request for more yandere classmate oneshots/fics/headcanons anything that is a yandere classmate content cause I really love your writing and those yandere classmates hcs/oneshots you wrote♡♡!! if you need me to be more specific here's a suggestion/scenario:3...(that's a bit too specific if you don't mind hehe)

Yandere classmate transfer to reader's school and class. Yandere meets reader and boomshakalala typical yandere scenario where he falls inlove with reader. Yandere finds out that reader is getting backstabbed and bullied by their classmates. Reader is an extrovert and silly but like can't do anything about the bullying so they just ignore their classmates comment. Reader can be gender neutral or fem, whatever feels more comfty for u to write:>>! yan is a male!

Also, if you're in a writer's block, u don't have to force yourself! Also jst ignore this if u don't feel comfty writing this. Take of yourself and sorry if this is a bit too specific or demanding !

xoxo - Anon

hey anon! you just pulled me out of my writers drought so please have this for valentines

Yandere! classmate who's the new kid and is trying to fit in. Right, the average new kid experience. You're not popular, not a loner, just somewhere in between and trying to get by with all the horrors school can throw at you. No one has enough time to bother with others when they have to focus on themselves.

But there is.

You know how there are some people who peaked in highschool that take out their sadness on others? Yeah, that's right. Those people. And he just so happened to walk into one of these sessions.

Some grown ass man pouring milk over- oh, it's you.

Yeah just like how there's the losers who peaked in highschool, there are the popular kids who remain popular throughout their life. Aka you. And he's fallen for you hard.

It all began one fateful day... When he bumped into you while running on 2 hours of sleep and simply passed out because of the force at which he walked right at you. That's right. He fainted from walking into you.

Anyway, when he woke up, he found out that you had dragged him to the nurse's office and had stayed right by his side until he woke up.

How fucking cute.

He was definitely attracted to you. That was for sure, he still could feel it even when he was still woozy. I mean, you were his type from head to toe! Physically at least.

But now you're telling him you stayed by his side and waited patiently by his side until he woke up? You've got him hooked. So he gave you his number, got you to be his friend, and everything else fell in place.

He started noticing you around campus, talking to everyone and socializing like a freaking butterfly. Figures. You were clearly an extrovert and loved being just an absolute sweetheart. Sweet and kind to everyone around you. He would give you the world if you asked for it.

Then, he started noticing the bullying. The whispers, backhanded compliments... Just everything about it enraged him. It's bad enough that people are being mean, it's even worse that they're called your friends. How could they do such a thing to you? You were a blessing to be around! These people should be grateful that you even wanted to befriend them! Hell, they should be grovelling and begging on their knees for even as much as thinking wrong of you!

The worst part of it all?

You don't retaliate. Or rather, you can't. These "friends" of yours are all kids of rich and powerful people. And you? You're just poor old you, unable to talk back in fear of them ruining your reputation and maybe even worse. They could have you removed from the school, falsely accused of a crime... They're scum of the earth and they know it.

He hates them.

He hates them.

That's why he's taken it upon himself to get rid of them! No problem if he isn't as powerful or rich as these... "friends" of yours... Who can fight back when they're dead after all? The dead don't speak, they can't. They're the best type of sinners, people who've dared to lay their filthy hands and words on your beautiful soul.

Of course... He doesn't let you know that. You're too kind for this world. You'd freak out and have a panic attack if he told such a thing to you! You wouldn't understand. He wouldn't want to scare you anyway. You think of him as just another tired student that's your really nice friend. So he's kept all this hidden away.

But right now? When he's faced with this? Milk? On you? While you're just... Forced to take it all?

How can he not act out?

"You think this is funny?"

His hands are on that losers neck in a second, depriving him of any oxygen possible. Damn you, damn you, damn you. This waste of space should just die now. He was even laughing when he was pouring the fucking milk over your head? Unacceptable.

Simply unacceptable.

"You're a fucking loser."

"You smell like piss and shit, did you piss yourself?"

"Not so much of a big guy now, huh?"

This guy's body is larger than him, muscle and veiny all over. Yet... His body was slowly losing... to him? An average joe?

Then he hears it. Your voice.

He gets pulled out of his rage by your voice. Oh... Your sweet, sweet voice. It's like an angel's touch, the warmth of spring after a cold winter. Usually it would be comforting to him, make his heart soar and face warm. Right now though? it's sending nothing but dread through him. Shit, he's exposed himself.

"Uh... Fuck, I didn't mean to-"

He's stammering, bumbling on his words like a fool. No, god no, he's messed up now. You'll surely hate him and think he's a violent creep. You'll never want to talk to him again and-

-You reached out to him and mutter a thanks? For standing up for you? With that smile and gentle hands? What was that? Did you just ask him to release the guy and go on a walk? Was that a date? He hopes it's a date. Ah, it's on valentine's too. Do you like him? Is this a sign? He's not overthinking it right?

...

Ah.

He's so cooked.

[rootedinrevisions]

Worth the Effort

Summary: On their first Valentine’s Day together, Glen goes above and beyond to show his love in a way that proves just how much the reader means to him.

Warnings: None! Just pure fluff and good vibes.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author’s Note: Thank you to the Anon who sent in this request! This one was fun to write with the holiday coming up! Also put a little bit of myself in this one as I've never really had a partner put effort into Valentine's Day. So it was fun to brainstorm what someone would do to make Valentine’s Day special!

A Few Days Before Valentine's Day

The phone rings just as you’re settling onto the couch for the evening, the glow of the lamp next to you casting soft shadows against the walls of the living room. You glance at the screen, and the second you see Glen’s name your heart gives an involuntary flutter.

“Hey, babe,” you say, leaning back against the cushions. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Isn’t it like…two in the morning over there?”

There’s a chuckle on the other end, warm and familiar. “Nah, we wrapped late, and I couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice first.”

Your stomach tightens. He always knows what to say.

“Well, I’m honored,” you murmur, smiling despite yourself. “How’s London treating you?”

Glen sighs, and you can almost picture him. He’s probably stretched out in some ridiculously nice hotel room, one arm behind his head, hair tousled from a long day on set.

“It’s good. Cold as hell, though.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You poor thing.”

“I know, right?” he says, voice dripping with mock suffering. “I need to get back to Texas.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, drama queen.”

There’s a pause just long enough for you to hear the subtle shift in his tone when he speaks again. “Speaking of me coming back,” Glen starts, “don’t make any plans for Friday.”

Your brows pull together in confusion. “Friday?” You blink, glancing at the calendar on your nightstand. “What’s Friday?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You’re messing with me,” Glen says flatly.

You tilt your head. “I’m… not?”

“Babe.” His voice dips, both amused and exasperated. “Friday is Valentine’s Day.”

Your stomach clenches. Your fingers tighten slightly around the phone, but you force a casual laugh.

“Right,” you say quickly. “Well, you don’t have to worry about coming home for just that. It’s just a stupid holiday.”

You’re met with silence. Not a long one, just a couple of seconds that are barely noticeable, but you hear it. And knowing Glen, he’s probably hearing everything you’re not saying.

He exhales softly. “C’mon, don’t be like that.”

You shrug, even though he can’t see you. “I’m serious. You don’t have to come all the way back just for some commercialized excuse to buy me chocolates and overpriced roses.”

His voice is softer now.  “You really think I’d let our first Valentine’s Day together be just another day?”

You don’t know how to explain what’s going through your head, at least not without sounding pathetic. But the truth is, the only other serious relationship you’ve ever had was with someone who hated Valentine’s Day. He called it pointless. Overrated. He never bought you flowers. Never made plans. Never did anything. And eventually, you just learned to stop expecting it.

Glen, though? Glen isn’t like that.

Still you shake your head, keeping your voice light. “I don’t know. I think you’re underestimating my ability to spend the night in pajamas bingeing bad reality TV.”

There’s a chuckle, but it’s quieter this time. Then, his voice turns gravelly, lower than before. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I already have something planned.”

Your breath catches. “You—”

“I’ll be home Friday,” he promises. “And once I get home I’m all yours.”

* * * * *

Valentine’s Day - Morning

Soft morning light spills through your curtains painting yours and Glen’s bedroom in soft golden hues. You shift under the covers stretching lazily, the quiet hum of the world outside lulling you back into a light doze. For once you don’t have to rush. No work. No emails. No meetings. You took the whole day off not for Valentine’s Day, of course. Just…because. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The faint sound of the front door unlocking downstairs barely registers in your half asleep state. Your mind lingers somewhere between dreamland and consciousness until a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“Babe?”

Your eyes flutter open. There’s a brief second where your brain doesn’t quite catch up. Because Glen is in London. He’s supposed to be thousands of miles away.

But then a slow grin spreads across your face as you remember his promise. Pushing the covers off, you scramble out of bed and  run toward the living room. 

The second you turn the corner, there he is. Glen. Standing in your doorway, looking completely and devastatingly like home. His hair is tousled from travel, and his jacket is slung casually over one arm. But it’s the expression on his face that makes your breath hitch. That stupid heart melting smile.

“Hey beautiful,” he says, voice rich with amusement.

You don’t even think. You just launch yourself into his arms. Glen catches you easily, like he’s been waiting for it. One of his arms wraps around you, strong and warm, holding you just tight enough to make your heart squeeze.

“You’re here,” you mumble against his shoulder.

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Told you I would be.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands sliding to cup his face. He’s slightly scruffy, his jaw rough with the shadow of a beard like he hadn’t bothered to shave before hopping on a plane.

Your fingers brush over the stubble, and Glen just smirks.

“You checking if I’m real?” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “I’m debating if I should kill you for not telling me when your flight was landing. I would’ve picked you up.”

He chuckles, but before you can say anything else he pulls something from behind his back. A bouquet of roses. Deep red, vibrant, freshly wrapped with ribbon.

Your lips part, but for a second, nothing comes out.

Because this has never happened to you before. No one has ever shown up with flowers. No one has ever gone out of their way to make you feel like you’re worth the effort.

Glen watches you carefully, his gaze softer now. “You okay?”

You swallow, nodding as you take the bouquet from him. The petals are velvety under your fingertips, the scent delicate and sweet.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He tilts his head. “I know.” Then leaning in he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “But I wanted to.”

Your chest tightens. Because for the first time ever Valentine’s Day doesn’t feel like some stupid, commercialized holiday.

It just feels like him.

Glen leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching as you tuck the roses into a vase. “So,” he says casually, “what time do you have to be at the office?”

You hesitate for half a second before replying, “I actually took the day off.”

Glen raises a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Did you now?”

You shoot him a look already knowing where this is going. “Don’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna.” He steps closer, tilting his head. “Did you take today off to avoid your office turning into a Valentine’s Day war zone?”

You sigh dramatically. “It’s not a war zone. It’s just…” You gesture vaguely. “Okay maybe it is kind of like a war zone.”

Glen chuckles. “So you’re telling me that right now, at this very moment, the entire office is split into two camps. One group gushing over their gifts, the other dramatically swearing off love forever.”

You snort. “Pretty much.”

He grins. “And you just…opted out?”

“I didn’t opt out,” you argue, crossing your arms. “I just thought, you know, a personal day sounded nice.”

Glen hums, unconvinced. “Mhm. Just a total coincidence that you took off work on Valentine’s Day?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, actually.”

“Uh-huh.” He steps forward, hands slipping around your waist as he leans in. His voice drops, warm and teasing against your ear. “Admit it. You were worried I wouldn’t come back.”

Your stomach flips, but you try to keep your expression neutral. “You are so full of yourself. Not everything is about you, you know?”

He laughs, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck before pulling back. “Maybe.”

Moving effortlessly around your kitchen, Glen grabs a frying pan and starts pulling things from the fridge.

You frown. “Are you…cooking?”

He raises a brow. “What, you think just because I’m a pretty face I can’t make breakfast?”

You smirk, hopping up onto the counter. “I think I’ve seen you burn toast before.”

He points a spatula at you. “That was one time. And I was distracted.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “By what?”

Glen grins. “You, probably.”

Your cheeks warm, but you shake your head laughing as Glen effortlessly takes over the kitchen.

The rest of the morning is easy. Pancakes, fresh fruit, coffee. You sit cross legged on the couch while Glen flips through the channels, landing on an old movie you’ve both seen a dozen times.

The world outside drifts by, but here in this little pocket of time, everything feels calm.

Because it’s not about the holiday. It’s just about being with him.

Later That Afternoon

You’re curled up on the couch, half asleep, when Glen nudges your foot.

“Hey,” he says, stretching. “We should probably get ready soon.”

You frown, peeking one eye open. “For what?”

He smirks. “C’mon. I’ve got plans for us.”

You hesitate, eyeing him suspiciously. “What kind of plans?”

His lips twitch. “The kind where you should wear something nice.”

Your stomach flips. Because Glen Powell does not do basic.

Which means whatever he’s got planned…it’s something big.

You stand in the middle of the walk-in closet, hands on your hips, staring at the rows of clothes as if they might magically assemble themselves into the perfect outfit.

Something nice. That’s what Glen had said. But what does that even mean? Does he mean nice boots and jeans? Like Texas casual nice? Or does he mean nice dinner nice?

You sigh pulling out a dress, then immediately putting it back. You check your phone like maybe Glen has sent some kind of clarification, but no. Just a winking emoji in response to your earlier “Where are we going?” text.

So helpful.

Just as you’re debating whether you should just put on leggings and hope for the best, you hear footsteps behind you.

“You’re overthinking.”

You turn to see Glen leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning like he’s caught you doing something embarrassing.

“I am not overthinking,” you say even though, okay, maybe you are.

Glen pushes off the doorframe and steps inside, his gaze flicking from the half-unzipped dress in your hand to the growing pile of discarded outfits on the bench. “You’re standing in the middle of the closet looking like you’re solving a murder,” he teases.

You huff. “That’s because you were vague.” You gesture toward him. “What does something nice even mean? You’re wearing jeans!”

He glances down at his outfit—jeans and a crisp button up, the sleeves rolled up in a way that does unfair things to his forearms. “Yeah. Because I know where we’re going.”

“That’s not helpful.”

He laughs, stepping closer. “Here.” He slides past you, reaching into your side of the closet like he’s done it a hundred times before. He pulls out a sundress. It’s one of your favorites. Light, comfortable, effortless. The kind of thing that works for a casual dinner or something a little special.

He holds it up. “This one.”

You take it, raising an eyebrow. “You picked that fast.”

He shrugs. “I like this one on you.”

Something about the way he says it is so easy and certain. It sends warmth curling through your chest. You glance at him, suddenly aware of the way he’s watching you, like he already knows you’re going to listen to him.

“Alright,” you say, fighting a smile. “But if I’m overdressed, I’m blaming you.”

Glen grins. “That’s fair.” He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You smooth your hands over the dress as you step out of the bedroom, your heels clicking lightly against the hardwood as you make your way down the stairs. There’s a hint of nerves buzzing in your chest. Not because you’re unsure about the date, but because Glen has a way of making everything feel like it means more.

As you reach the last step, you spot him near the front door, messing with his watch. He must hear you approaching because he glances up. And freezes.

His fingers pause, his whole body going still as he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You recognize that look. It’s the one he gave you the first time you ever dressed up for an event together. The one he gets when you’re wearing something that knocks the breath out of him.

His lips part slightly, his brows lifting just enough to be noticeable. His eyes take a slow appreciative once over, lingering on the soft fabric of your dress, the way it falls just right, the way it hugs your curves without even trying.

“See something you like?” you tease, one eyebrow quirking as you reach the bottom step.

Glen blinks like you just snapped him out of a trance. Then that easy, borderline cocky grin of his slides into place. “I always do,” he says smoothly, stepping toward you. “But damn, sweetheart.” His voice dips lower warm and teasing. “You really outdid yourself tonight.”

You roll your eyes fighting back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stunning.” He closes the space between you, reaching for your hand. His fingers slide against yours, warm and steady. “If I didn’t already have a whole plan for tonight, I’d be seriously reconsidering leaving this house.”

Your face warms at his words, but you shake your head with a laugh. “Well, now I definitely need to know what this plan is.”

He smirks, giving your hand a quick squeeze before leading you toward the door. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart.” He opens the door, gesturing for you to step outside. “You’re gonna love it.”

As you step outside the cool evening air wraps around you, carrying the scent of fresh grass and the lingering warmth of the Texas sun. Glen’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you toward the garage where his truck and SUV sit side by side. Your car is parked in the third spot.

You glance between his truck  and the SUV, expecting him to open the door to one of the vehicles. Maybe he’s planned a nice dinner in town or some kind of fancy event. But instead of going for the truck Glen veers to the side…toward the Gator ATV.

You stop short. “Uh… did you forget we’re dressed nicely?” You gesture between the two of you, your dress swaying slightly with the motion. “Because I don’t think this outfit is exactly ATV appropriate.”

Glen just grins, already pulling open the driver’s side. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Should I?”

He leans against the roll cage, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I did put in all this effort to plan something special for you.” He tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “So, what do you say? You gonna climb in and find out, or are you gonna stand there and keep looking pretty?”

You bite your lip, giving the Gator a once over. It’s not what you expected, but with Glen the unexpected is usually the best part. With a small sigh you step forward, gathering your dress slightly as you climb into the seat.

Glen smirks as he watches. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“I swear, if you send me flying—”

“Sweetheart.” He places a hand over his heart. “I would never let anything happen to you.” Then with a wink he turns the key, and the engine rumbles to life beneath you.

As he pulls out of the garage, the headlights cut through the dusky sky, and the excitement in your chest starts to build. You still don’t know where he’s taking you, but you can already tell whatever it is, it’s going to be unforgettable.

The ride is short, but the anticipation builds with every bump and turn down the dirt path. The air is crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of wild grass and the faintest hint of cedar. The last bit of golden sunlight lingers on the horizon, casting everything in a warm glow.

As Glen slows the ATV to a stop, you finally see it—a clearing in the middle of his land, wide and open, with a sky that seems to stretch forever. And right in the center of it all, a blanket is spread out, a carefully packed picnic basket resting on top, along with a small lantern glowing softly in the evening light.

“You did all this?” you ask softly, turning to Glen as he kills the engine.

He grins, already stepping out of the ATV and moving to your side. “Told you I had something special planned.” He reaches for your hand, helping you down with that effortless, gentlemanly ease that always makes your heart race.

As soon as your feet touch the ground, you kick off your shoes, the cool grass tickling your bare skin. Glen watches with amusement. “Getting comfortable already?”

“You expect me to sit on a picnic blanket in heels?” you tease.

He chuckles, slipping his arm around your waist as he guides you toward the setup. “Fair enough.”

Once you reach the blanket Glen lets go of you just long enough to sit down first. Then with that easy, confident charm, he reaches out offering his hand to you.

You place your hand in his letting him help you down, and as soon as you’re settled, he stays close. One arm propped behind you for support, his body warm and solid beside yours.

“This…” You take another glance around, your heart swelling at the effort he’s put into all of this. “This is amazing, Glen.”

His gaze softens, a small smile playing on his lips. “You deserve it.”

And just like that the tension in your chest, the years of past Valentine’s Days that were ignored or dismissed fades into something warm and weightless.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the way your emotions threaten to creep up, but Glen must notice because he reaches up, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “none of that. No sad thoughts tonight.”

You exhale a small laugh. “I’m not sad,” you admit. “I just…I think this is the first time Valentine’s Day has actually felt like something special.”

His fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward his. His voice is soft, steady. “That’s because you’re special.”

And before you can argue, before you can brush it off, he leans in, pressing a soft lingering kiss to your lips, sealing the moment in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

Glen reaches into the picnic basket, a playful smirk on his face as he starts unpacking the meal he’s carefully put together. There’s fresh fruit, a variety of cheeses, slices of warm bread wrapped in a cloth, and a thermos that smells suspiciously like homemade soup.

You raise a brow. “You went all out for this.”

He grins as he pops open a container, revealing chocolate-covered strawberries. “Told you I had a plan.”

As you both start eating, the atmosphere settles into something warm and intimate. The sky deepens into a soft indigo, stars beginning to peek through, and the lantern beside you casts a cozy glow over the blanket.

At one point, Glen picks up a piece of cheese, holding it out toward you with an exaggerated look of expectation. “Open up, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but lean in anyway, taking the bite from his fingers. His smirk widens. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

You swallow, shaking your head at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me.”

You snort. “That’s still up for debate.”

Glen gasps dramatically, clutching his chest as if wounded. “Damn. And here I thought I was winning you over.”

“You’re gonna have to work a little harder than feeding me cheese,” you tease.

He leans in, voice dropping just a little. “Noted.”

Your stomach flutters, but before you can react, Glen reaches back into the basket, pulling something out and setting it in front of you with a little flourish.

“Speaking of working harder,” he says, “here’s your real Valentine’s Day present.”

You blink, looking down at the small, wrapped box in front of you. Your heart stutters. “Glen…”

“No arguing,” he warns, nudging it toward you. “Just open it.”

Your fingers hesitate for a moment before you carefully peel back the wrapping. Inside, nestled in a velvet box, is a delicate bracelet—simple but elegant, with a small charm that catches the lantern light.

You recognize it instantly.

The charm is in the shape of Texas, and etched into it, so small you almost miss it, are the coordinates of Glen’s ranch.

Your breath catches.

“So you always have a piece of home with you,” he murmurs, watching your reaction closely.

A lump rises in your throat as you run your fingers over the charm, heart swelling at the thought behind it.

You glance up at Glen, eyes shining. “I—”

But the words don’t come.

Instead, you reach for him, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss that’s soft and slow, filled with everything you’re feeling but can’t quite put into words.

You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, “I love you.”

Glen smiles, pressing a kiss to your nose before pulling you into his arms. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

The sky is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, the last remnants of daylight sinking beyond the horizon. The warmth of the setting sun lingers on your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth radiating from Glen as you lean back against his chest. His arms are wrapped loosely around your waist, fingers idly tracing patterns along your forearm.

You sigh contentedly, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. “This was perfect.”

Glen hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

For a while neither of you speak. You just sit there tangled up in each other watching the sun disappear. There’s a peacefulness in the quiet moments between you, in the way Glen’s breath moves steadily against your back, in the way his fingers never stop their gentle absentminded movements against your skin.

And then, as the last bit of daylight fades, Glen shifts behind you. “C’mon,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head before gently pulling away and standing up.

You blink, watching as he makes his way over to the Gator. “Where are you going?”

Glen doesn’t answer. At least not right away. Instead he reaches into the vehicle, flicks on the headlights, and suddenly the entire field is bathed in a warm golden glow. Then from the glove compartment he pulls out a small Bluetooth speaker.

Your heart stutters as he powers it on and scrolls through his phone for a moment before a familiar melody starts playing.

You recognize it instantly. It’s the first song you and Glen ever slow danced to on the first date.

Your breath catches as he turns back to you, the softest smile tugging at his lips. He makes his way over, holding his hand out. “Dance with me?”

You don’t hesitate. Slipping your hand into his, you let him pull you up and guide you into the middle of the makeshift dance floor. The headlights cast a dreamy glow, the stars begin to dot the inky sky above, and the music wraps around you like a warm embrace.

Glen’s hands find your waist, drawing you in close as he sways you to the music. You rest your arms around his neck, your fingers playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck.

For a moment, you just move together, slow and easy, as if the rest of the world has faded away.

“You remember this?” Glen murmurs, his lips close to your ear.

You nod against his shoulder. “Of course, I do.”

“I do too.” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “I remember thinking that night that I’d do anything to get the chance to dance with you again..”

Your breath shudders, emotion tightening in your chest. “Glen—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. Instead he dips his head and kisses you slow and deep, like he’s got all the time in the world. And maybe he does.

The music plays on, the soft melody weaving between the night sounds of crickets and the occasional rustle of the breeze through the grass. Glen holds you close, his warmth wrapped around you like a second skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

Neither of you speak, but words aren’t necessary. Everything you need to say is in the way he holds you, in the way he sways with you, in the way his fingers trace gentle patterns along your spine.

As the song nears its end, Glen presses his lips to your temple, lingering there for a long moment before whispering, “You get it now, don’t you?”

You blink up at him. “Get what?”

He smiles, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “That you deserve this. That you’re worth the effort.” His thumb skims over your cheek. “And that I’d fly across the world a hundred times over just to spend a day loving you.”

The words steal the breath right out of your lungs. Emotion swells in your chest, tightening your throat, burning behind your eyes.

You shake your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you whisper, “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Glen chuckles, tucking you against his chest once more. “Then I guess I’m doing something right.”

And so, you stay there—wrapped up in his arms, slow dancing beneath the stars, as the music fades and the world around you stands still.

Just you and him.

Exactly where you’re meant to be.

[just-bendy]

diff anon

how would they go about askin for valentines?

also! the way you draw the characters is real aesthetic, I like it a lot :)

(( Bendy is a charmer to say the least. He knows just what to say and just what to do to create the classic romantic valentines day experience. Flowers, chocolate, cards, dinner, candlelight, you name it. He's a flirtatious toon with an affinity for being charming. It's just like putting on a show for him. He knows all the moves and all the lines. He's excellent at playing the part. Asking someone to be his valentines is no problem for him. He's done it many times every year, and has only gotten better at it. Much like Alice Angel, he also gets a lot of valentines day gifts every year. ))

(( Boris is a bit more bashful with this romance thing. It's adorable, really. He wouldn't go out of his way to ask someone to be his valentines unless he REALLY liked them. Getting them, however, often leaves him quite flustered. He's not quite as charming as Bendy is, but he has his own goofy and adorable personality that's just as appealing to others. ))

(( Alice doesn't ask for valentines, she gets them. Many many times, but she likes the attention. Alice and Bendy often fight for the spotlight when it comes to their shows, but also about who gets more valentines day gifts every year. They're both attention-seeking toons after all. She puts on an air of grace and elegance for the public and accepts the valentines day gifts with humility, but in reality, she doesn't care much about who's giving it to her. Unlike Bendy and Boris, she doesn't find herself falling for anyone that easily. There's not many people who meet her standards, and she has very high ones, being an angel and all. There's just no one good enough for THE Alice Angel. ))

(( also thank you very much!! i dont know what you mean by aesthetic tho 😅 ))

[ask-the-eggmans]

Howdy !! Im anon the.. anon =D! I wanna ask to Agent Stone, which is your favorite food (expectingcoffeebutthat'snotafoodaccordingtomymeowlawyer) and Robotnik fav? and if any of you know how to cook ¿

Have a nice day and weekend creator and people who read this >3<!

"Coffee is great, but it's not food. I'm all about being healthy and eating all the best things for my health. I like anything with meat, but man, steak is my favorite. Cooking is one of my many hobbies. Robotnik's favorite meal though doesnt really require any of my cooking skills. Instant ramen is kinda easy. I do like to make some fancy ramen for him every once in a while, though, just as a treat. He loves that. Especially with the two little eggs on top. Now, that always earns me a grin." -Stone

[elleandstufff]

Do I Like Her? ๋࣭ ⭑

Thanos can’t admit his feelings for you until it’s too late. Or is it…? Thanos/Choi Su-bong x fem!reader

Inspired by the song Stephanie by Nafeesisboujee! Requested by Anon! 

Warnings: Dual POV, angst, talking stage, indecisiveness, hiding true feelings, implied smut but nothing described, you both get with other people to try and get over the other, drinking, drug use, jealous!Thanos, ambiguous but hopeful ending, 3.3k words

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

The hum of the shitty light above you is enough to make you regret all of your decisions tonight. Your coworker had begged you to come out tonight to some club. That part actually wasn’t so bad. But just before last call, your coworker met some sleazy guy who begged the two of you to come to the twenty-four-hour diner down the street. 

Now, your coworker sits in the corner booth with said guy, and the two of them are eating each other’s faces off. You sit at the dingy counter nursing a cup of coffee. You’re already up freakishly early, so you might as well stay up. 

“Hey, Señorita.”

A man’s voice infiltrates your ears, but you don’t realize he’s talking to you until you look up from your coffee and see him standing right next to you. He’s tall and lean with purple hair and clothes that make you think he just came from the club like most of the diner’s crowd right now. 

“Do you have a name?” 

You’re not sure why you tell him, but you do. It’s not often that you entertain these sorts of things, but there’s something special about this purple-haired guy. 

“I’m Thanos.” He extends a hand toward you, but instead of shaking it he just cradles your hand in his. 

“What’s your real name?” 

He pulls a face. “Sorry, babe. I don’t go around giving that out to just anybody.” 

You smirk, ready to play along. “Well, I need to know. I’m definitely not going to be moaning Thanos all night.” 

His eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting you to be so forward. 

“What?” You feign innocence. “That’s why you came up to me, right? Why don’t we just skip all the talk and get the hell out of this dump?”

He smiles and threads your fingers together. “I saw you at Club Pentagon but didn’t get a chance to talk to you. Then I found you again here. That’s got to be fate, huh?”

You let your coworker know that you’re heading out, and she wishes you farewell even though she’s a little preoccupied. You walk outside hand-in-hand with the man you literally just met. His apartment isn’t a far walk, so the two of you set off on foot. The walk will give the two of you a chance to get to know each other a little bit before you end up tangled together in his bed sheets. 

“It’s Su-bong,” he says, then repeats himself once you look up at him confused. “My name is Su-bong.” 

“So, Su-bong, you do this often?”

“What? Bring girls home?”

You laugh. Based on his demeanor, you’re fairly certain this isn’t his first time doing this. You lift your entwined hands. “No, I meant this.” 

He stalls for a minute, like your probing has him questioning everything. Why was he doing this? “No, actually. Just for you, Señorita. What about you? You do this often?”

You can’t help but smile at this man you hardly know a thing about. “Well then I’m honored. And no, this isn’t how my typical Friday nights look.” 

You talk more as the two of you walk. You find out that he’s a rapper, which makes sense. He’s a bit twitchy, too. You’ve seen enough drug use in your life to know that he was on something tonight that’s starting to wear off. 

You don’t waste any time when you get back to his apartment. He’s rough of course, but there’s a certain tenderness to him that sets your brain on fire. Something tells you that it’s new for him too. 

You offer to leave after–even though you don’t want to–but he asks you to stay and get some rest. You had planned to just stay up and get some much needed errands done, but how could you say no? You were already feeling something toward him, which is the exact reason why you didn’t do stuff like this often. You catch feelings way too fast, and apparently even faster when the feelings are for a purple-haired rapper. 

He opens up the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a pill bottle that you know is not prescription. He downs a couple and rolls over to face you. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, yeah?” He says it matter-of-factly, but there’s something to his tone that makes it sound almost like he’s pleading.

“‘Course,” you whisper, but whatever pills he took have already taken effect and he’s softly breathing beside you. 

It takes you a while to drift off, and you wake before him a few hours later, but you honor the promise you made. He stirs awake not long after, and he seems surprised to still see you in his bed. Something flashes in his eyes–adoration, maybe–but he’s quick to get up. He seems different now, more walled off. 

As he moves around his kitchen preparing himself a junk food filled breakfast as if you’re not even there, you try to say your goodbyes. He looks at you with his mouth full. “Oh, let me get your number.” 

“So you can ghost me for three weeks and then randomly text me at two in the morning one day because you’re horny? No thanks.” 

He stops you before you can get out the door with a sigh, like he can’t believe he’s doing this… “How about I give you my number then? That way you can decide if you want to ghost me or not.” 

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

You end up not ghosting him, and Su-bong struggles with how he feels about it. Usually after he hooks up with a girl, he might talk to her for a couple weeks, but it never lasts. Things either fizzle out or he just doesn’t care enough to put the effort in. But with you… there’s something different. Something special. It terrifies him. 

You text him. A lot. He’s not good at responding to anyone, so he has to constantly remind himself to text you back. He doesn’t always respond, and oftentimes it’s hours after you sent the initial text, but it’s more of an effort than he’s put into anyone else. 

You come over a couple times a week, too. Mostly to hook up, but the visits start getting longer with shared joints and movie nights. He likes the way your bodies fit together. He likes waking up to someone in his bed, and he likes that person being you. But he can’t admit any of this to his friends, himself, and especially you. He knows you like him, he knows you would be so good for him, but he can’t seem to let himself go past good morning texts and tender forehead kisses when he thinks you’re asleep. 

One night, he asks you to come to the club with him. Not meet him there, come with him. It’s a big step for him, and he tries not to think too much about it. He pops a pill from his cross necklace just to calm his nerves. 

The two of you sit in a booth at Club Pentagon with his friends. Su-bong keeps an arm tightly wrapped around you, like he doesn’t want to lose you. He’s seen the way some of his friends look at you. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you shout over the bass-boosted club music. 

“I can do it,” he offers. 

“No, it’s okay.” You smile sweetly. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.” 

He doesn’t realize that he’s staring at your figure the entire time you’re at the bar until he feels his shoulder being nudged. Distractedly, he turns to see Nam-gyu. 

“Do you like her?” 

“Nah,” Su-bong answers, before he can even think about it. “Just a fling.” 

“You sure? Because-” 

“Yep, I’m sure,” he answers curtly. 

He doesn’t like you that much, right? So why does he feel like shit right now?

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

You’d been talking to Su-bong for a couple of months now. You never put a label on it, but it keeps your life interesting. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish you two could take the next step into a real relationship. Su-bong is not a super affectionate person, so you’ll have to take him in whatever form you can get. 

You text him probably more than you should. He hardly ever texts you first, but he keeps responding to you–even if it’s hours later–so you keep texting him. You frequent his apartment more and more often, and he even starts coming by yours. His touches get more tender, his words more soft, and you begin to think maybe you’re getting somewhere with him. You know he probably won’t be the one to make the next step, so you decide to. 

One morning you bring it up as you lie with your head on his chest and your legs tangled with his. He’s staring at the ceiling thinking about whatever it is that he thinks about, smoke blowing out from between his lips. 

“So, I have this weird work party thing tonight.” 

He takes another hit from his vape. 

“And like everybody at my work is married and bringing a plus one…”

Another hit. 

“So… I was thinking maybe you could come with me?”

He immediately tenses beneath you. It’s quick and he adjusts himself, but you definitely felt it. You quickly sit up feeling like a complete idiot. 

He rolls on his side to look at you. You prepare yourself for what’s about to come. 

“It’s just… I thought this was more of a casual thing, you know?”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, that was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“I mean, I could still come I guess.” 

“No, no, really it’s fine.” You get up and start throwing your clothes on as fast as you can without making it so obvious that you’re upset. 

He catches your wrist. “You don’t have to leave.” 

“I just remembered that I’m supposed to bring a dessert and I don’t have any of the stuff, so I should probably get started on that.” 

You scramble out of his apartment before he can say much more. You don’t really have to bring a dessert, but you go to the store in a stupor anyway to try and distract yourself. You spend way too much time baking a stupid cake that tastes only half-good. You go to your work party and get introduced to a wave of husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, and significant others. 

You thought you could do this casual thing, but turns out you’re not very good at it. 

Texts to Su-bong get way less frequent, while texts from Su-bong are at an all time high. With the roles reversed all of a sudden, you can hardly form responses to his mirage of texts. What is even the point in texting anymore? You’ll never be anything more, so responding just makes you feel stupid. 

You meet up for a couple more late-night rendezvous, but one night you decide you can’t take it anymore. You lie awake for hours deciding what you’re going to say when he wakes up. When he finally does, you squeeze your hands into fists to keep yourself from crying. 

He’s groggy and barely awake, but he goes for his vape on the nightstand anyway. It’s like he knows this is coming. 

“I don’t think we should do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.” 

“C’mon-” 

“No, Su-bong,” you stand firm. “I can’t do it. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry I’m not like you.” 

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

Su-bong chews up his third or fourth pill of the day. He had taken more than he had wanted, but did he ever get what he wanted? No. Did he deserve what he wanted? Also no. He wanted you–he needed you–but he fucked that up. So now he didn’t deserve you and he didn’t have you. What a killer combo. 

When you had asked him to come to your work party, he nearly panicked. He wasn’t the type of guy you take to office work parties. You knew that so why did you even ask? Fuck, this wasn’t your fault. It was his. 

He should’ve just said yes. Should’ve just sucked down his fear and put on a nice outfit and a fake smile and shaken hands with all the people from your work that you can’t stand. Instead, he made you do that all by yourself. Who knows, maybe Ji-woon from your job turned out to not be so bad. Maybe you and Ji-woon are sucking face right now in the office break room. Ji-woon doesn’t have to do much to be less of an asshole than him! 

And when you’d broken things off, you’d said that you weren’t like him. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He thought he wasn’t like you at first, too. He didn’t think he was the type of person to catch feelings after one night and blow up someone’s phone, but turns out he is that type of person. Just like you. He thought he made it obvious, when he started texting you constantly after declining your work party invitation. It still wasn’t your fault that you didn’t realize. He should’ve spelled it out for you. He wishes he still had the chance. But even if you were right in front of him, he would still struggle to find the words to tell you how he felt. Fuck, why did he have to be like this? It doesn’t really matter. He’s probably never going to see you again.

The girl in the seat beside him stirs. He had completely forgotten about her. If he squints, she almost looks like you. Actually, no she doesn’t. No one does. 

“Thanos,” she purrs in his ear. “Let’s go dance!” 

Thanos. You never called him Thanos, not even around his friends. He liked it better that way. 

She starts kissing his jawline, and he turns so his mouth meets hers. He entertains it for a minute, but then he pulls away. She’s not you. 

“Sorry, this won’t work. You should go.” 

The girl looks at him bewildered, before calling him an asshole and storming away. Nam-gyu slides into the seat where the girl once was. 

“Dude, what’s going on? That’s the third girl this week you’ve fumbled.” 

Su-bong wouldn’t call it fumbling. He tried to make it work, tried to forget about you, but he couldn’t. So he pushed the girls away. 

“C’mon, dude. Are you really caught up over that girl? I thought you said you didn’t really like her?” 

“I do,” he says, jaw tense. “I do like her. So fucking much.” 

“Well, then you better tell her before it’s too late…” Nam-gyu gestures toward the bar where a familiar face is sitting. 

Su-bong nearly falls out of his seat. You’re here and he has another chance. He’s on his feet and halfway to you when he sees him. Some loser has his arm wrapped around your waist. It’s not Ji-woon, but it might as well be. You know what? Su-bong doesn’t care, he’s going to talk to you anyway. 

“Hey, Señorita,” he says, sliding into the spot beside you. 

He swears he sees your eyes light up for a minute, until the leech at your side speaks up. “Hey, buddy, she’s spoken for-”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I know him.” 

Su-bong pulls you into a tight hug that forces the dude to drop his arm to his side. He wraps his arms around your waist so tightly, and he could just melt when he feels you wrap your arms around his neck. This probably looks really weird to the guy. Good. 

You pull away from the hug, so he reluctantly does as well. Then, he starts to lean in to kiss you, and this time you stop him. “You should drink some water, go home, get some sleep.” 

Shit. He didn’t realize he looks high out of his mind. At least you’re sweet about it. At least you still care. 

“Uh, we gotta go,” the loser at your side says, pulling you away. 

He didn’t get to tell you how he felt. Maybe it was too late for the two of you. It was definitely too late. But he still wanted to tell you how he felt. You deserved that much. Now he just needs to find a way to tell you.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

The guy your coworker set you up with drags you outside. “That was weird. Who was that guy?” 

“My ex?” you say, but it comes out as more of a question. Was that what Su-bong was?

The guy looks at you weird, but then he’s leaning in and so are you. You let the kiss happen. He’s not as good a kisser as Su-bong, but it distracts you at the very least. 

“How about we go back to my place?” he says, pulling away. 

You pause. You could go back to his place–a guy who actually likes you–or you could go inside to the guy who doesn’t like you back. Instead, you do neither. You let the guy down easy and go home to your empty bed. Maybe one day you’ll be able to move on from Su-bong. 

A week or so later at work, your coworker pulls you aside at lunch. “You know that rapper guy you were hooking up with for a while?” 

Your heart drops. “Yes, why? Is he okay?”

“Sounds like somebody is down bad.” She laughs. “Looks like he wrote a song about you.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s no way it’s actually about me.”

Your friend hands you her phone that has his Thanos instagram page open. There’s a picture of his new single. The title of the song is your name and the artwork is a blurry picture of the two of you. Your hand flies to your mouth. This is the guy that wanted to keep things casual? 

“Says he’s performing it tonight for the first time at Club Pentagon. You going?” 

That night you show up to Club Pentagon early, determined to talk to Su-bong about what the fuck is going on. You can’t find him until you spot him right before he’s about to go on. You storm up to him. 

“Su-bong, what the fuck!? You tell me we need to keep things casual and then you write a song that’s very obviously about me?” 

He turns to you, his microphone in one hand and his other hand fiddling with his ear piece. He looks incredibly nervous, but you can tell that he’s fully sober. “You came.”

You fold your arms stubbornly across your chest. “Uh, yeah, I came. Kinda need to figure out what the hell is going on.” 

“We can talk after. I promise,” he says with a shaky breath. “Just listen to the performance, please. And don’t leave without talking to me.” 

You nod your head yes and find a spot to listen to his performance. As he performs, you really listen to the lyrics. Not only were they irrefutably about you, they were irrefutably a confession about his true feelings for you. Your heart leaps into your throat. He likes you. 

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

When Su-bong finishes his performance, his eyes lock onto you and only you. You’re silently crying, tear streaks adorning your pretty face. He waits expectantly, trying to read your emotions. You don’t react at first, your eyes remaining locked onto his. But then… You smile like you’ve just seen the sun for the first time. 

⛧°。Masterlist °⛧

Here it is, Anon! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoyed it! 

Also, I have another Thanos x reader story I’m working on that’s inspired by a song. I’m thinking about maybe making a mini-series of (unrelated) fics based off of songs. So if that’s something you want to see, comment or send me songs that remind you of Thanos (or other Squid Game characters)! 

[hedwig221b]

hii ! do you have any recs for hale pack underestimating stiles or like stiles being underestimated generally and then he always proves them wrong? pleasee and thank uuu <3

and anon asked:

hiiiiiiiii, do you have any fic where like the pack or everyone thought stiles is weak and they always underestimated him??? i love badass stiles SO MUCH. thank uuuu!

Let's see how you like this bunch...

I Don't Need Protecting by halcyon1993

After Derek casts him out of the pack, Stiles is left completely alone, the perfect target for the newest enemy looming on the horizon. Now in the clutches of a vicious pack of alphas, tortured, mocked and fed up of being seen as weak, he's determined to prove to everyone who doubted him that you should never underestimate Stiles Stilinski.

They Never Learn by gryvon

Five times Stiles Stilinski was underestimated by someone outside his pack.

Never Underestimate Stiles Stilinski by haletostilinski

Derek is taken and tortured by hunters, who are confident that they have the upper hand. But they haven't met Stiles yet, who will stop at nothing to save Derek.

with bloody feet across the hallowed ground by owlpostagain

There were no last words. No more pleas, no more screaming. Just the sound of Stiles squeezing the trigger, the explosion of a second shot rocketing out of the revolver, and the hunters bursting through the open doorway just in time to see the bullet slam squarely into the center of Derek’s chest.

It seems wasted now by DaaroMoltor

It's been months. Months of lonely days and lonelier nights. And Stiles can't understand what he did wrong.

Wild Card by Onlymystory

Stiles doesn't really care if other people think he can fight. He knows what he can do. And he knows exactly how to save his pack when they're captured by the Alphas.

Can't rely on me by Littleredridinghunter

Set at the end of season 2, Gerard beats Stiles up, but it's a lot worse than anyone knows. The pack let him down, that's not really a surprise lately. When Danny finds Stiles nearly bleeding to death the next day it's the start of a beautiful friendship. Can the pack make amends before it's too late? Will Stiles ever forgive them for not being there for him when he needed them the most?

The Pretty Things (are going to hell) by FaeryQueen07

“You have something of mine,” Stiles says, and he reaches for his hood, pushing it back to reveal the rest of his face. Lips curled up in a smile promising pain and eyes like death, he says, “And now I’m going to take it back.”

The Boy Who Tamed the Sourwolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

Stiles is used to being second tier in everyone's life. How easily people forget him and move on to bigger and better things. Used to always being in someone's shadow. Leave it to Derek Hale to shatter those expectations.

Red Witch by rootbeer

The red hair of a banshee. The red eyes of an alpha. The red hoodie of a mage. The red of fire burning. Derek Hale has been a prisoner to the hunters since they burned his family alive. But now someone has come to save him: skinny, defenseless Stiles--147 lbs of skin and fragile bones. Turns out, sarcasm isn't his only weapon.

Lone Wolf by Kikileduc

Complete spin off after season 2, but does have season 3 and so on elements. Stiles feels forgotten, he feels left out. So he does something about it, while getting reacquainted with nature he stumbles on to something else. If the pack doesn't need him, if his dad wants him to stay out of it all, well, maybe he just needs a distraction in the form of 3 adorable wolf cubs!

And miles to go before I sleep by Heart_Of_Steel_And_Fandoms

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills at the end of Sophomore year. He's been abandoned by the pack, scarred by the hunters, and carries the equivalent of a volcano of magic inside him. Needless to say, his life sucks. But when Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills, over a year later and with a new persona, he isn't the same powerless human the pack remembers. And when demons threaten Beacon Hills, he proves to everyone that sarcasm isn't his only defence.

Dragon's Breath by trilliath

Between the hunters and the monsters that have interfered with life in Beacon Hills, the pack has had to learn a lot in the last few years, including Stiles teaching himself to practice magic in private. It's not exactly a secret from the pack, but it's not something he's shown much. When it comes time to put his skills to the test, Derek is the only one who finally gets to see Stiles's wild magic put to use saving Erica's life from a new threat in town. The aftermath changes something between them, and those tenuous lines tangling them together may mean the difference between life and death for them both.

Other fic recs: angsty fics | possessive Derek | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | creature!Stiles | bad friend Scott | pack mom!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles | feral Derek | arranged marriage